Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't
by KelBub
Summary: Dean and Sam were separated from John at an early age and they grew up apart. Many years later they meet again under circumstances they'd never thought possible. Through pain, and camaraderie and an escape involving a black Ford Mustang they get their...
1. Chapter 1 Teaser

SOMETIMES IT HURTS, SOMETIMES IT DOESN'T

Summary: Dean and Sam were separated from John at an early age and grew up apart. Many years later they meet again under circumstances they'd never thought possible. Through pain, camaraderie and an escape involving a black Ford Mustang they get their lives back.

Author's note: This story is a mix of two things that have happened to my friends. I wrote it to deal with their problems; to understand what they are going through and why they act the way they do. This was originally written as a script and shot as a short.

I wanted to make a fan fiction story from this and so I've altered the story so it will work with the Winchester brothers as the main characters. I've started rewriting the script into an actual novel and I want you guys to read it and give me your opinions.

The story is based on two of my male friends; one who's been abused all his life (inspired me to write "I know how you feel" as I wanted to convey his emotions.) The other friend of mine was raped a couple of years back. (Yes, he's a guy, but guys can get raped too.)

I asked them before I wrote the script if it was okay that I used their life stories. They agreed to it as long as I didn't use their real names. They wanted the message to come across as well, for people to understand, and sometimes, I guess, it's easier to have someone else write about it than to write it yourself and go through it all over again in your head.

I want to warn those who have a hard time reading abuse fics because this story isn't nice – but it's true to some extent. I've tried not to be so graphic but I've wanted to get their emotions across so it's very angsty and emotional.

With that said, read and um…enjoy?

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_By definition all pain is invisible; it is a private experience which the person not in pain cannot know directly. Yet, relief of pain and suffering depends on this private experience being shared to the extent that a person's pain becomes another's concern, and thus acquires visibility and a social dimension. For pain to be made visible, it needs to be given voice, not only by the person in pain but also by those with the power to relieve it._

_- Scarry_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TEASER

Introduction

**DEAN**

"_If people bring so much courage to this world, the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry." -- Ernest Hemingway_

Only fragments. There were only fragments of a memory left of the man and the little kid that were once his father and his brother. It wasn't so much their appearances he remembered but rather moments, touches, smells and a sense of safety. He didn't have that anymore. Soft touches weren't that common. Where a kiss should graze the cheek, a slap was placed more often. Shoulders aching to be hugged only received bruises, and a mind screaming for acknowledgement was left numb from years of psychological abuse. And what made it all even harder was that he had once been loved so he was painfully aware of what he was missing out on. His old life was almost completely forgotten – erased from his mind as if swept away by a great tidal wave. And his name… Even his name had been taken away from him. It was gone. And the personality attached to it, gone with it. Ten years later his new name was still as foreign to him as it had been the first time he'd been addressed with it. He wasn't an 'Ulrich'. He was a Dean, goddamnit!

"Ulrich."

The voice had him flinching. He hadn't even opened the front door yet and the monster of a man was already sensing his presence. How was that even possible?

Before he knew it the door was flung open and _he_ was standing in the doorway, sleek moustache on a red and bloated face. Right then, for a fragment of a second, Dean considered dropping the bags of groceries and run. But where would he go?

"Get your ass in here right now, Ulrich."

_It's Dean, you bastard!_ "Yes, sir."

The man stalked back inside the house and Dean followed warily, the calm worrying him. Calm had usually preceded the worst run-ins with the man. And like always, he had no idea what he had done wrong.

"When I tell you to do something I expect you to do it." He was angry. Dean could tell. He had mastered the skill of reading the man's signals. A red, bloated face; calm voice; trembles of excitement - they all spoke to him, and they told him to run and hide. Next phase: droplets of sweat, heavy breathing…

_Now what?_ "But you told me--," he faltered.

"Don't talk back to me, son!"

_I'm not your son! _"I'm sorry."

The man wiped at his forehead where the first droplets of sweat were now visible. Dean watched him in silence, waiting for the man's next move. The wait was worst. Or the 'trepidation of impending doom', to be poetic. No matter how he phrased it he was scared shitless of those seconds of silence and uncertainty.

**SAM**

"_Nothing gold can stay. Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down today. Nothing gold can stay." -- Robert Frost _

'Alone' was a scary word, almost as scary as 'new'.

He had once been a little brother. Or so he'd been told. He didn't remember much. But sometimes a voice or a situation or a smell brought forth a foggy memory from the back of his mind and he knew – knew that he'd once been the baby, the object of affection, the protégé. And he'd feel the presence of those who'd once showed him that unwavering love. He didn't know their names, couldn't see their faces, but in those moments of reminiscence he'd _know_ them like he knew himself and he wouldn't feel so alone.

But most of the time he was alone; left out in the cold; pushed aside; forgotten.

Alone was a scary word because to him it was true, he really was alone.

**JOHN**

"_No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the continent, a part of the maine; if a clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." -- John Donne_

Ten years had passed since his boys had been taken away from him. Ten years of putting everything on hold to look for them. Ten years of roaming around the country in what was evidently a fruitless search.

John gulped down the last of the whiskey and slammed his glass down on the counter. Several sets of eyes turned to stare at him and the barmaid shot him an annoyed look. He didn't care. The initial shock and pain of losing his sons had turned into frustration and bitter anger over the years.

He'd been robbed of everything and he was sick of it. His wife had been taken from him thirteen years earlier and then his sons. Mary was gone but his sons weren't. He was going to get them back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Separation

She'd been working at the hospital for twenty years and had learnt how to distance herself from the bad things she had to witness every day. But the scene played out before her was sickening – even to her. The man was hysterical, as were his kids. They were screaming for their daddy as he was fighting the men that were restraining him and pulling him away from them. The oldest son was fighting the CPS official, desperate to reach his father. The youngest son was shaking with sobs, his longing gaze set on his father; confusion in his eyes, and she realized that he had no idea why this was happening to them. Abused children were never confused as to why they were separated from their parents. But this kid was.

She blinked away a tear and turned away. She couldn't watch anymore. There were enough spectators in the hallway as it were. She didn't want to witness this -- this kidnapping.

Walking the other way was easier. Taking those steps to physically distance yourself worked when nothing else would. The memory was harder to shake though. She stuffed it in the already filled file of 'life traumas' in her mind to be opened at a later time in the company of a therapist.

The last thing she heard before the door was slammed shut behind her was the pain filled cry "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" and a single tear found it's way out, getting a taste of the cheek that hadn't known crying for a long time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the Separation

**SAM**

Strapped in the backseat of the gray BMW, Sam cried all the way from the hospital to the pink house with the white picket fence where the man and the woman lived. His _new _parents; they liked to call themselves that and he had no idea why they were so persistent in wanting him to say it. They weren't his parents and he didn't care if they were 'new'. He already had a mom and a dad. And a brother.

His heart thumped vividly in his small chest and tears flowed from his eyes. He was so scared he was shaking and he wanted nothing more than for his dad and Dean to be with him. But that wasn't going to happen, he'd been told. His dad and brother weren't going to be a part of his _new _life.

"Sammy," the skinny woman with too much lipstick said and Sam flinched and cried even harder. Hearing the unfamiliar voice made what was happening even more real and scary.

"Sammy, welcome to your _new_ home."

**DEAN**

They had to force him into the car. Once he was inside, the door was shut quickly and the familiar locking sound reached his ears. He screamed at them and pummeled at the window but they just ignored him.

The big German guy that they had introduced to him as his foster dad climbed inside the car and shot him an angry look. Dean didn't care instead he tried to squeeze past the man to get out. The man grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back into the car with such force it almost knocked the wind out of him. Dean froze for a second, kind of taken aback by the man's roughness, just as the door on the passenger side opened and the other man climbed inside. Dean stared at him and the man met his gaze with hard, gray eyes that made Dean more than a little uncomfortable. The man who was the German's brother smirked at him. "He's feisty," he said to his brother and the older man nodded.

"Let me out." The three simple words sounded both like a plea and like a command. They were met by silence and Dean was suddenly afraid of the men in the front. He couldn't take them but he was sure his dad could have had he been around. For at least the tenth time that day he wished that John was there to help him.

The car pulled up to an old yellow house and the men got out. Dean stayed in the backseat - his previous strong desire to get out of the car traded for a fear of what was waiting outside. His so called foster dad unlocked the door to the backseat and pulled it open. Dean quickly scooted over to the other side to get away from the man, only to be grabbed by his brother who'd opened the other door.

The man yanked him out of the car and wrapped two strong arms around Dean's waist to keep him from running off. Dean struggled to get free but the man only tightened his hold on him until he had him in a vice-like grip. Dean panted heavily from the strain of fighting the older man. He gave up for the moment and relaxed in the man's arms.

The foster monster went up to them and grabbed Dean by the ear. Dean bit back the painful groan that suddenly threatened to leave his lips, willing himself to look the man in the eye.

"No more screaming and trying to run away." The man spoke with such force and authority it gave Dean the chills. He didn't dare mouth off to the man. He didn't dare do anything. He was only seven years old. He shouldn't have to.

**JOHN**

Cold metal closed around his wrists and he was pulled away from his boys. "Nooo!" he screamed frantically. "Please, no!" His cries were accompanied by Sam's loud sobs and Dean's desperate gasps as he tried desperately to reach his father.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad!"

Dean sounded so scared John wanted to cry. _"This shouldn't be happening,"_ he thought, _"Not to us, not again."_

"Dean! Sam!" He was surprised at the sound of his own voice. He sounded just as agitated and scared as his sons did.

John tried to pull free again, kicking one of the men in the shin. The man groaned in pain but didn't let go. A third man approached them and helped the other two restrain him, bringing his battle to an abrupt end.

He watched helplessly as his sons were led off by the CPS officials. Desperation and energy turned to agonizing calm and he slumped in the arms of the three policemen, almost pulling one of them down with him. The only thing dear to him had been taken away. He'd lost everything.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Be Continued…

The Present


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First of all: The reason it took forever to post this chapter is 1. I suffered from a writer's block and 2. my friend thought the parts about his life were too detailed and so I've rewritten the sections that touched his story. Secondly: I like German people. I really do. The reason the bad guy in this story is German is because my friend is of German heritage. So don't get mad. Third: I don't know how it works with sports teams in American schools…And I don't really care. When I wrote this story it took place in Sweden so some of the events of this story won't apply to an American setting and I'm aware of that. Okay, so on with the story…

**CHAPTER TWO**

The Present

**DEAN**

"_One can tip too much as well as too little: indeed the coin that buys the exact truth has not yet been minted." -- Anonymous_

"Shut up!" he barked at him. Dean couldn't help but smirk at the order as his foggy mind registered the irony of it. _Fire can't be put out with fire, old man. _

And wow, was he on fire. He'd been feeling off for days, tired, muscles aching, coughs setting in, and he'd known he was coming down with something. Question was with what? This morning he'd woken up freezing in his sweat soaked pyjamas and realized with a sigh that he was running quite a fever. 103 the thermometer mocked and he quickly turned it off and put it back in the medicine cabinet. Now that explained a lot; the headaches, the coughs, the exhaustion. But knowing the reason for his body's betrayal didn't make him any calmer - quite the opposite actually. It wasn't okay to stay home from school because of the flu. Staying home meant staying still, which was always the result of a beating. When he got his ass kicked so royally he could hardly walk, then he'd stay at home, or rather he'd be forced to stay at home. Reinhold, his father – Dean still cringed at the word – was a writer and worked at home, and Dean would rather go to school half dead than stay at home with the man. Even worse than his 'father' was his 'uncle' Marcus, Reinhold's younger brother, who was unemployed and usually bumming around the house as well. Marcus was even meaner than Reinhold and far much stronger. On the few occasions he wasn't picking a fight with Dean, he was sizing him up and eyeing him in a way that chilled Dean to the bone. So no, Dean didn't stay home if he could help it. He stayed away as much as possible.

But today one of his teachers at school had noticed his glazed eyes, heard the coughs, seen his flushed cheeks and felt the sweat in his green shirt when she stopped him to ask how he was. His raspy 'I'm fine' did not convince her and he was sent to the nurses office.

He'd been denying it at first. He was fine, really, just a little tired. And the sweating? Well, he had been running of course.

But once nurse Owen had pulled up the thermometer he'd known he couldn't lie his way out of it. No one with a 103 degree temperature was _just a little tired_ or _fine_. And like he thought, he was sent home immediately with the fine advice that he should rest and see his doctor. _Great! _

He walked home practically dragging his feet behind him because the sooner he got home the sooner he'd have to face his foster dad. Unfortunately, home wasn't very far and within 15 minutes he'd be standing on the doorstep. It was a nice day but even in the sun he was freezing; shaking like a leaf. He coughed in his fist and stopped by the crosswalk to put on his jeans jacket. Just as he zipped his jacket a red Jaguar glid past and his eyes met those of a young man in the passenger seat. It was a really nice car and for a moment Dean envisioned himself in it; driving away from this horrible town towards a new life, with Metallica blaring from the stereo. He followed the car with his eyes until it took a turn and disappeared behind a corner – and his dreams along with it. Ten minutes later he was standing outside his house, hesitating shortly before going inside.

He crossed the hallway slowly, minding his every step, knowing that Reinhold was always testier when he was writing. He sneaked inside his room and closed the door with a sigh of relief. Then he heard the thundering footfalls of the monster as he stalked out of his office and down the hall towards Dean's room, and his breath caught in his throat. _Damn_. He should've been quieter. He opened the door for the man because if he took the confrontation straight away it would be over quicker and be less painful. He knew that from experience.

Reinhold grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him out into the hallway with him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he bellowed and Dean winced when the man shook him. "They sent me home," he replied weakly. Just saying those few words was gruelling and he marvelled at how quick the fever had drained him of energy. It had only been a couple of hours. "Why? What did you do now?" the monster demanded, nostrils flaring. The man was sweating something fierce, possibly even more than Dean, and it wouldn't be long before he exploded. Reinhold kept shaking him and Dean was getting dizzy. _Please stop_. "Nothing, I swear. I was just…"

Telling the truth wasn't an option. He tried to come up with a good excuse but his mind drew a blank – nothing worked properly under raging fever. Reinhold let go of him and Dean staggered from the sudden push he received when he was released. "You were what?!" He fixed Dean with a murderous stare and Dean sighed inwardly. He was so tired, and so sick of this game; balancing between lies and half truths while stepping on glass. It didn't matter what he said – he always lost - so he might as well give the man what he wanted, some ammunition. "Go to hell!" he yelled at the older man. Reinhold stared at him, almost as stunned as Dean himself by the outburst. Dean had never talked back to him before.

Dean panted heavily. He was completely wiped out and wanted nothing more than to just be left alone. But he knew that wasn't gonna happen. Even through the fog of his vision he could see the monster tremble with excitement and he was certain that he was going to have it.

Still he was completely caught off guard by the sudden slap to his face and he cried out in surprise - only to be punished for his scream with another. He blinked, trying to find focus, suddenly feeling very dizzy and disoriented. "What did you just say to me?!" The man was furious and he shoved Dean up against the wall with frightening strength. Dean didn't even attempt to fight him off. "I said go to hell!" he repeated while his mind screamed at him that he was a damned fool for angering the man further.

"Shut up!" Reinhold barked and Dean couldn't help but smirk at him. But the smirk turned into a tight-lipped grimace of pain when a fist connected with his ribs and knocked the wind out of him. Reinhold let go of him and he slid to the floor with a soft gasp.

"Just you wait," he heard the monster say, his words laced with a silent promise of a later punishment. Apparently the man's writing was going well today or he wouldn't have put the punishment on hold. Dean really didn't care. He was too exhausted to worry about it and he just wanted the bastard to leave. Reinhold poked him in the chest with a fat index finger. "You're going back to school tomorrow." It was an order. Dean nodded, and immediately regretted the motion when nausea crept upon him again. "Yes, sir," he replied softly and swallowed hard against the bile in his throat.

"And clean this mess up!"

Reinhold waved an arm at Dean's neatly kept room before disappearing into his office again – finally leaving Dean alone. Dean shivered. He was freezing. His shirt was drenched in sweat and smelled like shit. He wriggled out of it and sat down carefully, back to the wall, trying to catch his breath and keep from throwing up. But it was a losing battle and he retched on the floor. Alone and in silence.

**SAM**

"_Like two doomed ships that pass in storm_

_We had crossed each other's way:_

_But we made no sign, we said no word,_

_We had no word to say." -- Oscar Wilde_

"I hate this thing," Sam whined, pulling at the collar of his new school uniform, "I can't breathe." He stared at his lanky self in the mirror and groaned miserably. Tina, the maid, smacked him in the head playfully. "Would you like some cheese with that whine?" He smiled at the joke and watched Tina in the mirror as she pulled the tie around her neck and tied it. When she was done she took it off and handed it to him. "Put it on."

He sighed and pulled it over his head and tightened it around his neck, completing the feeling of slowly being choked to death. "Why do you always do that?" he asked. Tina who had busied herself with brushing off invisible dust off the shoulders of his jacket looked at him questioningly. "Do what?" she asked. He pulled at the tie to loosen it a bit. "Why do you always tie the tie on yourself first?"

She chuckled and shrugged. "I don't know. I guess that's how I remember how to do it." Her hands went up to his neck to tighten the tie again. Sam wasn't even fourteen yet and he was almost 6 ft tall. "You look good, Sam," she said and smiled, "Real handsome."

Sam looked at his reflection again and frowned. "I look like a seventh-grader at his first dance. Awkward." Tina laughed. "Sam, you are a seventh grader, you're supposed to look like this."

"Awkward?"

"Yeah, why not? Awkward's fun."

Sam made a face and pulled at the tie again, he couldn't breathe, the collar and tie were too tight. Tina slapped his hand away. "Not now, Sam, you have to look proper when your mom comes to inspect the uniform. You can take the tie off later if you want." Sam let his hand fall to his side with a deep sigh. "This sucks…," he breathed. Tina's brown eyes met his in a secret understanding. "Yeah, tell me about it."

----

Sam's family had moved for the fifth time in ten years. And again Sam had found himself in a new city, in a new school, in a new community. Always the outsider. Never any friends. He was always alone. If he didn't have Tina he would've gone insane a long time ago from lack of social stimulation. He was sure of it.

He sat in silence in the passenger seat of his mother's new red Jaguar, not listening to a word she was saying. Her lips were moving but he heard nothing. Shutting everything out was easy. He leaned on his elbow and watched houses, trees and people swish by in a blur of various colours. His mom was always driving too fast.

"Almost there, honey."

He heard that and sighed inwardly. It was going to be a really long day. He stared out the window miserably and felt the car slow down a bit. His mom was stopping for a red light and that didn't happen very often. She kept yapping though and he shut her out once more.

Suddenly his gaze fell on a guy on the sidewalk who was putting on a jeans jacket. Sam straightened up and watched the guy curiously. The guy was dressed in simple clothes and looked dirty; his jeans were worn and his jacket had oil stains on it. His hair was cut short and was dark and dirty. It was someone his mom would wrinkle her nose at but Sam liked the guy instantly. Sure, he was kind of filthy, but he looked like the type of guy who'd lived in the same house his whole life; someone who had friends, who was happy. The guy looked up suddenly and his dark eyes wandered over the Jaguar before meeting Sam's. They stared at each other for a moment before the other guy shifted his gaze back to the car. The Jaguar hadn't come to a complete stop yet and was still rolling when the lights turned green. Sam's mom stepped on the gas and the car rushed forward and then turned a corner. Sam leant back in the seat and closed his eyes. And just for a moment he imagined being that guy on the sidewalk; flipping up the collar of his jeans jacket and walking off to meet some friends.

**JOHN**

"_Laugh and the world laughs with you; _

_Weep, and you weep alone; _

_For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, _

_But has trouble enough of its own." -- Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

"What the hell do you know about cars?!" She made a point of brushing away a blonde strand of hair from her face while shooting him an irritated look. Her hair was long, it reached her shoulders and she was playing annoying customer. John sighed. These games were beyond freaky.

"More than you," he said and waited while she turned over. He now stared into her back and smelled her perfume as he dug his nose into her neck. She smelled of roses.

"Tell me," she moaned, "Tell me what happens when I turn the key in the ignition."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"You insert the key in the ignition switch. When you turn the key to the spring loaded start position the switch engages the starter by connecting the battery to the electric starter motor…"

"Oh, John," she panted. John rolled his eyes but continued.

"…The starter motor cranks the engine over. Then you hear the engine running, which is your signal to release the key…"

"Oh yes!!"

She was clasping the bedpost with both her hands and he could see the knuckles turn white as her screams reached higher notes. _If only she could shut up._ He closed his eyes, imagining the only woman he'd ever loved, and once this woman's high-pitched screams had settled he could finally let go.

He got out of the bed as soon as it was over and disappeared into the bathroom. She stayed under the covers and was soon asleep. As usual. He scrubbed himself hard under the hot, stinging water. He felt dirty. Dirtier than usual. And guilty. He stayed in the shower for almost an hour before getting out; hoping he'd managed to wash away at least some of this his latest sin. He got dressed in a hurry, wanting to leave as soon as possible. Every minute wasted in here was a minute longer at the bar. He didn't even send one, quick glance in her direction when he stepped through the door and slammed it shut in a fury.

Ten minutes later he was sitting by the bar, letting pure vodka caress his throat as he took it in gulps. Today was the anniversary of his failure as a father. Today, on the day, was exactly ten years since he last saw his sons. He still hadn't found them. He had failed miserably and he should feel it. He slammed the empty glass on the counter and yelled for the barkeep and once he got his attention, he hollered; "One more."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

He had been sick for three days now. And every morning he dragged himself out of bed, slipped on the same pair of jeans as the day before and, in hope for good news, taken his temperature. Not once during the three days had there been a beep and number under 100. It sucked, but he was riding it out. He pulled on a clean shirt and grabbed his Walkman. Since he was too sick to go back to school, he had spent the last couple of days in the park, lying on a bench and listening to music. It was boring but it sure beat staying at home and getting his ass kicked.

On the third afternoon of sleeping on the bench someone sneaked up on him and nearly scared him to death when they slapped him in the ass.

"Rick!" Kyle exclaimed. "Dude, where have you been?"

Dean's friends never called him Ulrich. Either they couldn't pronounce it or they just didn't like the name. Dean wasn't sure what the reason was exactly but he was glad they called him 'Rick' and not 'Ulrich'. Sure, 'Rick' wasn't nearly as cool a name as 'Dean' - but it was hell of a lot better than that crap German name.

When Dean's heart was beating again he groaned and turned around to face his friend.

"Kyle?"

"Hell yeah!"

Kyle slapped him in the ass once more and Dean growled and pushed him away. "Lay off, dude!" Kyle neighed. He didn't laugh like normal people - he seemed to be incapable of it. He ruffled Dean's hair and pulled him up when Dean didn't get off the bench fast enough.

"Dammit Kyle, I was sleeping…"

Kyle neighed again. "Yeah, Snory, it was kinda hard to miss."

"Shut up."

Dean slumped down on the bench again and felt his forehead gingerly. Still a fever. No surprise there. Kyle frowned and watched him curiously. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Dean shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Good, because we've got work to do."

"What do you mean?"

Kyle flashed him a smile. "We're Daniel's new assisting coaches." Kyle never called his old man 'dad' and always addressed him 'Daniel'. Dean didn't know why.

"Really? That's great!"

Dean had played soccer for as long as he could remember and had been on the school team for years until one day he busted his knee and was told he could never play again. A snap of the fingers and it was all over. Just like that. It had hit him hard. Kyle who had been on the same team had quit too as soon as he heard Dean could no longer play. Dean had tried to stop him but Kyle refused to listen. Some things you just didn't do without your friends.

Daniel, Kyle's dad, was the one who had got them both started in the sport. He had played soccer his whole life and was head coach for the team of another school in town. Ever since Dean and Kyle had stopped playing he had been talking about making 'his boys' assisting coaches. And apparently, now he had.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Sam groaned. His body felt broken and every muscle ached. He had been forced by his mom to try out for the soccer team at school and had actually got a spot. He was surprised to say the least - since he had no coordination he sucked at sports and his long legs weren't really an advantage when playing soccer. But he wasn't dumb. His parents' fat cheque book always played a prominent part in the Sam universe - whether he liked it or not. And once again, his parents' plans to bury him in school work and school activities had been a success. And he didn't even like soccer.

TO BE CONTINUED? (…Dean and Sam meet for the first time in ten years.)

If you like the story, say it with a review. I'm not gonna write it if no one is enjoying it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Okay, so I'm mixing the names 'Rick' and 'Dean' quite a lot in this chapter. Do remember they are the same person, namely our beloved Dean Winchester. And when I've written _Rick smiled _or something similar it's because it's supposed to be an observation made by someone who doesn't know his real name. As of yet, no one knows his real name is Dean.

Also, I'm still very insecure about this story so be gentle.

- Kel

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER THREE**

**DEAN**

"Shit. Man, it's hot. Isn't it hot out here?" Kyle waved a hand to fan his face and panted dramatically. He was a pretty happy chump and usually in a good mood but sometimes he acted like an itchy psyche ward patient. Dean glanced at his friend through glazed eyes. Kyle had stopped fanning his face and was now scratching his thighs vigorously. Dean shook his head at him and tossed his jacket to the ground before shifting his attention to the soccer field; eyes scanning the area to count the players. He was still sick and had vomited in a bush out in the parking lot only minutes before. But he'd be damned if that was going to stop him.

Behind him Kyle had started fanning his face with his hand again and was squinting at the sky with a sour expression. "Shitty sun! I swear to God, Rick, this heat…fuckin crap… sweat…damn," he grunted under his breath.

Dean laughed in spite of himself. _The guy sure had a thing with words._ "Kyle you've played soccer in this heat," he said, "It ain't gonna kill ya now."

Kyle frowned at him and switched hand to wave in front of his face. His right was getting tired. "I wouldn't be so sure," he grumbled.

Dean ignored him, and his simmering stomach, and walked out onto the field to talk to Daniel Ritter who had just arrived. Kyle followed him with a groan and a soft "I hate this shit."

"Hey boys," Daniel called and walked up to them. He was wearing sweats and the team jacket, apparently unfazed by the heat. He threw an arm around Dean and clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the hallowed grounds, Rick!"

"Coach Ritter," Dean greeted but Kyle just snorted, still waving a hand by his face. He was already in a bad mood. Daniel swatted his son in the head playfully. "Lighten up, kid." Kyle growled but stopped his hand-in-the-air thing and stepped closer to them.

"Okay, so we got a new kid on the team," Daniel explained, "He hasn't played much, so we're gonna go through some exercises today to see what position he should play. Got any ideas?"

Knowing soccer but new to the whole coaching thing made Dean hesitate before speaking up, and when he did he felt like an idiot; "Uh, divide them into two teams, let him play all positions…" He half expected Coach Ritter to laugh at him but instead received an appreciative look and a short nod.

"Sounds good, Rick, divide them into teams."

Dean smiled - he couldn't help it - and stepped out onto the field to gather the kids. He was surprised at how excited he was. "Guys!" he called, getting everyone's attention, "Center circle now!" And to his surprise the little squirts obeyed.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam slipped out of the boys' locker room and headed for the soccer field with a huge lump in his throat. He was late. Not the greatest start. He sighed when he saw the soccer field spread out before him. What was he even doing there? He knew nada about soccer. The team was gonna hate him.

He stepped onto the artificial grass on shaky legs and looked around nervously. Standing in the centre of the field was one of the coaches, Sam gathered because the guy wore a cap with the team's name, and surrounding him was a group of short and slender built kids with way too muscular calves. Sam shuddered.

"Hey, kid!"

Sam didn't even have to look to know who the guy was talking to. He stopped and watched as a teenager, not much older than himself, ran up to him.

"Wrong court, man," the older kid said, running a hand through his dark hair, "Basketball practice is over there," he pointed to the building Sam had just come from, "and on Thursdays. Bye bye."

Sam couldn't believe his luck. This guy had just offered him a chance to walk away. "Okay, sorry," he mumbled and turned to leave, barely managing to hide his joyous grin. But before he could take another step someone called out to them.

"Kyle! New kid! Get your asses over here!" It was the guy with the cap who called to them.

Sam groaned inwardly and turned around. The guy, Kyle, stared at him skeptically. "You play soccer?"

Sam looked on as the other guy ran up to them and sighed deeply. "Um, it depends on what you mean."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

Kyle and Dean stood at the sideline beside Daniel and watched the teams Dean had divided play against each other. The new kid had a hard time keeping up with his team mates. When he wasn't getting his legs in a twist and falling, he was either standing in everyone's way gasping and spitting, or passing the ball – if it could be called passing – to the wrong team. Frankly, he was a disaster. And Kyle and Dean stared at him in awe; amazed that someone could actually suck at something so utterly and completely.

"Shit, Daniel, what where you thinkin?" Kyle asked breathlessly, watching Sam trip on his own foot for the third time in ten minutes.

Dean, his mouth slightly agape, turned to them; he was wondering the same thing. Daniel laughed at their stunned looks and turned his attention back to the game. "Watch him," he said, "What doesn't he do wrong?"

Kyle shot Dean a weird look as if to say; "Huh?" and Dean shrugged, shaking his head. He didn't understand either.

They watched for several minutes as the poor kid skidded around out there on the field, tripping and falling while the other kids shouted at him angrily, and then all of a sudden Dean understood what Coach Ritter had been talking about.

"He's still playing…" he said softly, turning to Daniel with a smile.

"Yup," Daniel confirmed, "He's stubborn as hell."

Kyle looked like he wanted to slap them both. "Look at him!" He waved a hand in Sam's general direction. "Sorry to break it to you but he can't play for shit! Who gives a crap that he's stubborn?" He was frustrated and sweating and definitely not in the mood for his friend's and father's sudden act of charity.

"Kyle, cut the kid some slack!" Daniel shook his head at his son, in mock disappointment, and turned to Dean. "Is it the heat?" he asked, referring to Kyle's bad mood. Dean nodded in response and Daniel sighed knowingly. Kyle shot them an angry look and let out an exasperated groan.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam was beyond exhaustion. When practice was finally over and the other kids had stomped off he slumped to the ground with a soft gasp. His clothes were drenched in sweat, his legs felt like spaghetti and his heart was still pounding too fast for his liking. He stared at the scrubs on his knees, or rather burn marks, from the damned artificial grass and raked a hand through his damp hair.

"You did good out there."

He looked at the Coach in disbelief and chuckled softly. "You mean I sucked really good out there?" Coach Ritter laughed and offered his hand to help him up. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Yeah, everyone sucks in the beginning." The guy with the cap walked up to them and greeted Sam with a smile and a nod. Sam recognized him from the day before but said nothing.

"Samuel, this is Rick Schmidt," Daniel introduced, "And as you might have noticed, he's one of the assisting coaches."

"Hi," Sam said, suddenly a bit shy. Dean offered a quick smile and they shook hands.

**-----**

Sam stuffed his things in his new sports bag and fled from the locker room. The other kids on the team had all glared at him and exchanged disgusted looks as soon as he'd entered the locker room. Sam was sure they all wanted to beat the crap out of him and he wasn't going to hang around for that to happen. He strode down the corridor quickly, dead set on getting off the premises before they caught up with him, but was stopped in his tracks by someone calling out his name. _What now?!_ He turned around and found Rick, the assisting coach, standing there, jeans jacket in hand.

"You in a hurry?" he asked.

Sam just nodded, not wanting to explain.

"Do you live nearby?"

Sam was getting annoyed and shook his head curtly. "No, about thirty minutes out of the city." Sam shifted his gaze to the boys' locker room and bit his lip nervously.

Dean noticed and knowing how mean the little rascals could be, instantly felt sorry for the kid.

"You need a ride?" he asked. He didn't really have any plans for the evening and any excuse to stay away from home was hugely appreciated.

The kid shot another nervous glance in the direction of the locker room, seeming to consider his options. Apparently taking the risk of catching a ride with a stranger beat staying and risking a whooping by a gang of strangers - because the kid nodded and gave Dean a grateful look. _Wise choice, kiddo._

They walked to the parking lot in silence. Dean, who usually walked pretty fast, went first, heading for his foster mother Martha's run down Volvo. Sam was on his heels; scurrying behind him as if his ass was on fire; throwing nervous looks behind his back every now and again.

They got in the car and pulled out of the parking lot just as some of the kids exited the building, sports bags in hands, their faces sour. Sam let out a deep sigh of relief and Dean chuckled.

"That bad, huh?" he said, shooting Sam a sidelong glance.

"What?" Sam choked out, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. Dean snickered.

"Back there…"

Realizing he couldn't fool anyone, Sam nodded slowly and looked away embarrassed. Dean checked the rear view mirror before taking the sharp turn out onto the road.

"I know it's not easy to be the new guy on the team," he said, eyes on the road as he spoke, "and it's probably gonna be pretty tough for a while. But as soon as you've gained their respect they'll turn from a resentful pack of hyenas into a bunch of cuddly teddy bears. Trust me."

Sam gave Dean an incredulous look and rolled his eyes. _A bunch of cuddly teddy bears? Yeah, right!_

"And how am I gonna gain their respect?" he asked indignantly, "By scoring an own goal?"

Dean chuckled. "You'll get better." And he sounded so certain Sam almost believed him.

-----

They had talked about soccer for the last twenty minutes, and to Sam's surprise, he hadn't found it boring at all. Rick knew a lot about soccer and he'd told Sam about the Bundesliga, the professional soccer league in Germany, which games were apparently awesome to watch. They'd discussed the rules of the game and talked about Rick's favourite soccer players. Sam had been extremely comfortable during the whole conversation and was actually kind of sad to see the huge house his parents called home come into view as Dean pulled up on the driveway.

Dean stopped the car and killed the engine. Sam thanked him for the ride and stepped out of the car, his legs still feeling like spaghetti.

"Hold up!" Dean called suddenly and got out of the red Volvo. Sam waited while he went to the back of the car to get something from the trunk. When he returned he was holding an old football.

"You don't have a football, right?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head. "No."

Dean threw the ball into the air and proceeded to juggle it back and forth in the air, alternating kicks between his left foot and his right foot; his left knee and his right knee. Sam stared in awe. "Cool," he commented and Dean shrugged.

"It's a good exercise if you want to practise coordination," he said, and the discreet hint wasn't lost on Sam.

Sam was handed the ball and accepted it with a smile. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, Sammy." Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave. "See you at practice Monday?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah."

Dean smiled and got in the car. After a few tired coughs from the Volvo the engine finally roared to life and the car started rolling. Sam waved as it took off down the road and disappeared in a cloud of dust. He walked up to the house, sports bag swung over his shoulder, football under his other arm and smiling like an idiot because he had finally made a friend.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

It was early and Dean was on his way to the auto shop where he worked every Sunday. Bill, the owner of the place, was a nice guy and a very generous boss. Dean didn't have to work longer than five hours at the shop but was always paid for eight. Bill had taught him everything he knew about cars and Dean who was a quick study had started working there as a mechanic a few years earlier.

Dean pulled his shirt over his head with a grunt and grabbed the keys to Martha's Volvo. He was running late and he hadn't had breakfast yet. He ran into the kitchen to grab an apple and crashed into someone in his hurry. Marcus, whose morning cup of coffee was suddenly knocked out of his hand, yelped as the black, oily liquid sprayed over him, causing a burning sensation on his skin.

"Fuck!" he roared and Dean didn't have time to react before the older man's fist connected with his face and sent him sprawling to the floor. He winced and bit back a groan when his elbows impacted with the hard floor, but was quickly on his feet again, fist raised to return the love. Marcus sneered.

"If you throw that punch boy, I'll make sure Pops brings back the belt."

Dean froze at the threat; hesitating, but not lowering his arm. A couple of years back he'd been belted as punishment and it wasn't an experience he wanted to relive. He lowered his arm slowly. Marcus smirked and Dean fought the urge to jump the man. He hated him, wanted to kill him even, but considering the world of pain he'd be in for if he hurt the man, it just wasn't worth it. Apple forgotten, he left, not even favouring the other man with a look.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam gave a sigh of frustration and kicked the ball as hard as he could. He'd spent the entire weekend practising to juggle the ball the way Rick had. But it was a lot harder than it looked. He hadn't managed to keep the ball in the air for more than a couple of seconds at first. Now he had trouble with alternating kicks between foot and knee. Foot to foot went okay. Knee to knee just barely. But foot to knee was impossible. He'd kicked the goddamn ball for hours and still no improvement.

Suddenly remembering that it wasn't his ball he'd just kicked to hell, he took off down the street to retrieve it. The damned thing seemed to have its own agenda though, because it kept on bouncing like it had a life of its own; dancing dangerously close to the edge of the road bank, as if to mock him, and then rolling back onto the road to continue its journey. Sam chased after it, panting heavily; his condition, he realized grimly, was something else he needed to work on.

He stopped when he heard a car approaching and stepped to the side of the road to let it pass. It was Tina's car, a 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1. The car screeched to a halt beside Sam and Tina leant out of the open window to greet him.

"Sam, how's the ball juggling going?" she asked. She was teasing him - she'd just passed the ball further down the road. Sam shot her an annoyed look and took off after the ball again. Tina laughed and watched him scurry down the street. "Lunch in an hour!" she yelled.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

John slammed his fist into the oak counter in a fury causing the petite, bespectacled woman behind the counter to jump in her swivel chair. The act of rage wasn't directed at her in particular but at the corporation she presented, and she was just the one to get caught in the line of fire.

"I did my goddamn time!" John bellowed, "And now I want my children back!" He was too angry to realize that his violent, aggressive attitude did nothing if not ruin his already miniscule chances of ever seeing his boys again.

The CPS secretary stared at him fearful and wide-eyed. "Sir…"

"Don't sir me!" John roared, "Tell me where my sons are!"

Little pearls of sweat glistened on her forehead and the secretary wiped at her face with a trembling hand. "Sir, our files are classified. I can't help you…" And knowing this information would only anger the man further she added, "…I'm sorry."

John's face flushed with heated anger threatening to boil over and his hands curled into fists. The secretary noticed and gulped, averting her eyes from his fiery gaze. She had already pressed the red alert button under her desk, calling security but they had yet to show up.

"I was innocent, you hear?!" John screamed, "I would've never hurt my boys! And you!" He was pointing at the frightened secretary, but referring to the CPS in general, "You people took them away from me! So you bring them back! You make this right!"

The secretary sniffed and a tear found its way out, wetting her cheek. She didn't have the authorization to search the person database, and even if she did she would lose her job if she pulled up his sons' location for him.

"I can't help you," she told him with trembling voice.

John slammed his fists into the wall of protective glass that separated them and the glass rattled with the impact. The secretary yelped and whipped back, almost falling off her chair. John cried out in anger and punched his fist into the glass again, and the secretary echoed him with a panicked shriek. It wasn't the first time something like this happened but it was unnerving and frightening to her just the same. The secretary could tell the man before her was near his breaking point; his screams of anger slowly turning into wails of anguish as he continued to slam his fists into the glass. Then finally, and to her great relief, the door swung open and two security guards rushed inside to seize the man that had caused such commotion.

**TBC**

If you like the story, or have **constructive** criticism, please review!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: First of all, thank you everyone for your kind and supportive reviews! I really appreciate each and every one of them. They all have made me feel better about this story.

I've rewritten this chapter so many times I've lost count but having pneumonia and all I really don't have the energy to be my usual perfectionist self. So I decided to just post this as it is and hope for the best. I'm sure some reviews will help with my breathing so please give me your honest thoughts and views on this chapter. Maybe I'll get better sooner.

On a side note, I went crazy with the _Ricks_ and the _Deans_ in this chapter also. It's still only one person though – Dean. And Sam saying _Drerek_ instead of Derek was an intentional mistake, as was baby Sam's _You is mean_.

- Kel

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"_From Childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were; I have not seen_

_As others saw; I could not bring_

_My passion from a common spring_

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow; I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone;_

_And all I loved, I loved alone." -- Edgar Allan Poe, 'Alone'_

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

Dean pulled on his jeans jacket with a small shiver. It was late afternoon and it was getting colder outside, the air was crisp, chilly, and not welcome at all. Soccer practice had just ended and Dean and Kyle were still out on the field waiting for a couple of friends to pick them up.

Kyle was in a good mood, what with the cold weather and all, and was kicking around a football gleefully.

"I like that kid," Kyle announced, "He's a damn good shot." Kyle was talking about Sam. They had practised penalty kicks with the team today and Sam had made quite an impression on them all - especially Kyle.

-----

_Daniel placed the ball at the spot inside the penalty area; setting it up for Sam's fifth and final penalty shot. He nodded for Sam to advance and Sam charged for the ball. The shot was taken with the instep of his foot, like he'd been taught to do earlier, and aimed at the centre of the goal. It was a hard kick, and an impressive shot… _

"_Ouch!" Kyle exclaimed painfully from the sideline, his hand shooting up to cover his eyes. Dean and the rest of the team gasped in unison beside him. The ball had hit Tim, the goalie, right in the crown jewels again. Tim dropped to his knees, lips parted in a painful hiss as he covered his private parts with shaking hands. _

"_Shit!" Kyle breathed in Dean's ear, barely able to hide the amusement in his voice, "That has got to hurt."_

_Dean looked on as Sam ran up to Tim to apologize. But Tim who was still cupping certain parts, eyes closed from the pain he was in, didn't seem to acknowledge his presence. _

"_I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…," Sam said, blushing. He squatted down beside Tim, looking guilty as hell, touching Tim's shoulder lightly. Tim merely grunted in response and shoved him away. He was pissed. And who wouldn't be after having just been hit in the nuts by a football three times in an hour._

_Sam's quite stellar performance of 'The Nutcracker' had taken up most of practice. All five of his penalty kicks had missed their marks and instead rushed up to kiss Tim, first smack in the face and then in that certain place that had brought great agony to all of them. _

-----

"You're just happy he got Tim in the balls," Dean said with a smirk, because he was actually quite pleased himself. They had never been fans of the Belton family. Tim's older brother Paul Belton was their age and had played on the same team. He was a regular jock – and a total brat and a complete asshole and he was the reason Dean couldn't play soccer anymore. So watching Sam literally kick the crap out of Paul's younger brother had brought both Dean and Kyle great satisfaction - albeit, a quiet one and on the inside.

Kyle neighed. "And you aren't!?" Dean shook his head at him, but he was laughing and his eyes twinkled.

"Yo!" Their friend Michael surprised them both. He slapped Kyle in the back and swung an arm around his neck swiftly, putting him in a headlock. "You girls done here or what?"

"Shit, man! Get off me…" Kyle demanded and let out a soft grunt. The arm around his neck was choking him. Michael ignored him and shook hands with Dean.

"Rick, my man! Good to see you."

Michael was three years older than Dean and Kyle. He played soccer as well and had lived next door to the Ritter family before going pro and moving to Seattle. Now he played in the A-league for the Seattle Sounders and wasn't home much.

"Mike," Dean greeted, "How are you?"

"Fine, just fine." Michael ruffled Kyle's hair and let him go. As soon as Kyle had caught his breath he smacked Michael in the head. "Jackass!" he exclaimed and ran his fingers over his dark hair.

Michael chuckled and slid a hand into his pocket, grubbing around for something. He smiled when his fingers closed around his car keys and he pulled them out. He chucked them in Kyle's direction. "Stop bitchin' and go start the car."

Kyle caught the keys and rolled his eyes at Mike. "Dude, do I look like a fuckin' valet?"

Right then Sam blasted through the doors of the school, hair still wet from the shower, his steps hurried. He seemed nervous and his sports bag was unzipped; a towel hanging out from the bag, dragging behind him.

"And enter Sandman," Dean said, his eyes shifting to Kyle, "Your hero is here."

Kyle turned and saw Sam half running towards them. He smiled appreciatively.

"Hey, you!" he yelled. Sam looked over his shoulder as if he thought Kyle was talking to someone else. "No, you kid," Kyle shouted. He obviously had no idea what Sam's name was.

"His name's Sam," Dean pointed out helpfully.

"Sam, get over here!" Kyle yelled. Sam hesitated for a moment but then walked up to them. Kyle threw an arm around him and shook him. "Great shots today, Scooby!"

Sam looked stunned, and just a little offended. "What?" he mumbled, eyes wandering from Kyle to Dean who was obviously the saner one of the two, "I missed every shot…"

Dean and Kyle exchanged amused looks and Dean shook his head. "No, you bulls eyed every one of them."

"And therefore, kid, you're invited to a party," Kyle declared.

Michael stepped forward to get a better look at the lanky boy before him. "Who's the kid?"

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"Give me that!" Dean pried the beer bottle from Derek's fingers and put it back on the coffee table. "Stupid, can't you see he's had enough already?"

Rick's voice sounded cotton-laced in Sam's ears and the words got jumbled in his sluggish mind. His lanky, 13 year old stature swayed and he smiled to them. "Yeah, enough already, Drerek, and give Stupid the beer." His voice was cottony too and Sam giggled at the sound of it. Rick shot him a weird look and Derek laughed.

Sam laughed a bubbly laugh and swayed forward to pick up the bottle but Rick caught his arm and pulled him down on the couch. "Sit down Sasquatch, before you fall down," he said.

Sam giggled. "You talk funny."

They were at Dean's friend Derek's house having a few to celebrate the Seattle Sounders' A-league championship title. Michael's team had won 2-0 against the debuting New York team Rochester Raging Rhinos and his older team mates had supplied him with a couple of beer crates to celebrate the occasion. And being the good friend he was, Michael was more than happy to celebrate his team's success with his 17 year old buddies and Sam - even if it meant handing out beer to a group of under aged kids. Dean hadn't had any though; he never did, because if he got caught at home smelling of alcohol there'd be hell to pay. His buddies didn't know that. They all thought he was a teetotaller and were just happy that there was a self-proclaimed 'designated' driver among them.

"Rick, what's with the attitude, man," a blond guy called out. He was playing Nintendo 64 with Kyle. "You got a stick up your ass or something?"

"Shut up, Josh!" Rick shot back, but he didn't stop Sam as he reached for the beer bottle again.

Sam gulped down a couple of more swallows until his stomach lurched in protest. He put the bottle down with an unsteady hand and belched loudly. He felt the bile rise in his throat and swallowed against it. Come to think of it, he wasn't feeling too hot and the cottony sounds around him were suddenly not so cottony anymore. He winced as the other guys' voices rang in his ears. Their loud screaming and cheering made him sick to his stomach and he felt like he had to puke. He tapped Rick on the shoulder desperately. "Where's the bath…room," he slurred once he caught his attention.

Rick cast a concerned glance at him and nodded towards a door to their left. Sam got up quickly and made his way towards the bathroom on shaky legs. He was already tasting stomach acid and so he didn't even bother to shut the bathroom door before falling to his knees and puking into the toilet. The others heard his helpless retching and exchanged knowing glances - their first times had ended pretty much the same way. Dean rose to his feet and walked up to the open door.

"You okay in there?" he asked, almost gagging from the strong smell of vomit. He didn't want to peek inside. The response was a weak gurgle of no. And then; "I want to go home."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Dean glanced at Sam who was leaning against the car window with his eyes closed. He'd been standing at the side of the road puking his guts out only minutes before. Dean sure hoped the puke fest was over for the time being. He wasn't feeling well himself and he wasn't sure how much more he could take of that awful smell.

"You with me Sam?" he asked softly.

Sam stirred and scratched at his nose. "Mmm. But I don't feel so good."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well…who does?" He parked Mike's car behind Sam's mother's red Jaguar and got out. His gaze locked on the Jaguar almost immediately and he looked at it with admiration before helping Sam out of the car. Sam gratefully leaned on him, letting Dean take most of his weight.

"Are your parents home?" Dean asked, "Anyone that can take care of you?"

Sam yawned and then pointed to the garage. "Tina lives in the apartment on top of the garage," he said, "She won't get mad."

"Who's Tina?"

Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder as they walked. They were so close he could take in the older boy's scent. Rick is a nice guy and he sure smells good, Sam thought, and in his drunken mind he wondered if it was actually possible for someone to be that perfect.

"Hey!" Dean shook him back to reality. "Who's Tina?"

Sam had to think about that for a moment before he remembered. "Oh!" he exclaimed in a lit-light-bulb fashion, "She's our maid." He was swaying again and Dean fastened his hold on him.

"You have a maid?" He wasn't surprised though. Sam lived in a fancy neighbourhood, and the huge house and the Jaguar in the driveway screamed money.

"Uh-huh," Sam professed unhappily and looked at Dean with sad puppy eyes. "Do you hate me now? Because I don't want you to hate me…" Rick seemed genuinely confused, he registered.

"Why would I hate you?"

Sam snorted softly and then slurred sleepily; "Because I'm a rich brat."

"Yeah, what else is new," Dean said and smiled teasingly. It was obvious though from Sam's hurt look that he didn't find it very amusing. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sam," he said seriously, "I don't give a shit if you're rich. And I don't think you're a brat. Okay?"

Sam sniffed. "Okay."

"Okay."

Dean helped Sam up the spiral staircase to the small apartment that was the second floor of the garage. He propped him up against the wall and rang the door bell. A couple of minutes later a young woman dressed in a blue bathrobe opened the door. It took her a moment to notice Sam but when she did and saw the state he was in; the yelling began.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

'_This wasn't supposed to happen,' John thought frantically as he carried his children through the dark forest. 'They were supposed to stay in the car and lock the doors!' _

_Tears burned the back of his eyes as he glanced at his oldest son whose unconscious body was so badly bruised his skin was almost black. 'What the hell happened?! I was only gone for ten minutes.'_

_Sam was crying and hugging his neck tightly, his tears an outlet for both their pain. But Dean was still where he hung across John's shoulder. Deathly still. 'Please God, don't let him die…'_

_John sighed with relief once he saw the Impala in the soft moonlight, the light reflecting off of the black hood. He put Sam down and told him to get the blanket from the backseat. Still crying, Sam toddled off to carry out the order. Once he'd returned with the blanket John wrapped it around Dean and laid him down gently in the back. He grabbed Sam and carried him to the passenger seat._

"_Samuel, what happened?" he asked as he fastened his son's seat belt. _

_Sam cried and tried to pull away. "Dean," he sobbed, "Sammy wants Dean."_

_John grabbed his flailing arms and shook him. "What happened? Tell me what happened!"_

_Sam screamed and tried to fight him off. "You is mean!" He twisted around to look at Dean and started crying again. John slammed the door shut and ran over to the driver side. He got in and turned the ignition with a trembling hand. Whatever had happened out there, it wasn't good. He pulled the car out onto the road and sped off. _

_-----_

_Dean, who had come to on their way to the hospital, was pulled away from him as soon as he carried him inside the ER. And then Sam about an hour later, when Dean was in surgery. John was told that the cuts on Sam's face needed medical attention and he accepted it because he didn't want his sons hurt or in pain. But after an hour had passed and they still hadn't returned with his youngest he started to worry._

_He didn't know that his 3 year old son had just told the doctors that John had hurt Dean. And he didn't know how detailed a story a 3 year old could tell when it really mattered. _

_Sam told the doctors that daddy tried to hurt him and that Dean had saved them both. Sam didn't know any better. He didn't know what a shape shifter was. _

_-----_

"_Please, no!" His cries were accompanied by Sam's loud sobs and Dean's desperate gasps as he tried to reach him. _

"_Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" Dean sounded scared._

'_This shouldn't be happening. Not to us, not again.'_

_NOT AGAIN!_

John woke up from his own scream. Gasping for air, he looked around the room in panic. Where were his boys?

And then he saw the woman at his side – the blonde CPS worker he'd been going out with for over a year - and suddenly everything came back to him. He slumped back against the headboard and closed his eyes, willing his wildly beating heart to slow down.

Today… Today, she'd get him the information he needed. Today, he'd finally know where his sons were.

**TBC**

Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Being sick officially sucks! I'm so bored I can't even sleep. So I've been super creative instead and worked on a couple of chaps – so here's a quick update with chapter five. Not a very long wait, eh? Like I told some of you in response to the reviews, chapter four was merely a bridge chapter to build the base for the rest of the story. With only 12 new reviews, I realized it was pretty boring… Sorry about that. But thank you to those who did enjoy it and said so. Thank you Monti for the fine points you made about John. I'm working on it. :) Okay, so here we go. (cringing)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"_If this was how it was then this was how it was. But there was no law that made him say he liked it." – Ernest Hemingway, 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'_

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"Here, drink this."

Sam groaned and tried to slap her hand away but he was too tired and sluggish and missed. Tina made a face and helped him sit up. She stuck the glass of water under his nose and moved it in a circular motion as if it was coffee and she wanted him to smell it. Sam made a gagging sound. "No," he moaned, "I feel sick already..."

Tina plunged a teaspoon in the glass – she was still mad - and stirred it, making the salt and sugar at the bottom of the glass swirl. Sam looked on, appalled, but fascinated.

"I'm gonna puke if you make me drink that," he said, eyes meeting her stern gaze.

"I don't care," she said, voice a bit strained, "You're gonna get dehydrated if you don't."

She'd get her way and Sam knew it. He looked at her submissively and then sighed. "Okay, give me that." He took the glass from her and took a cautious sip and grimaced. "Ugh, that's disgusting."

Tina took the teaspoon and smirked. "Serves you right," she said, "Being so stupid." She was pissed, Sam could tell, but strangely enough not at him. He wasn't sure who she was angry with really, but he seemed to recall her yelling at Rick.

"I'm sorry 'bout last night," he murmured and then took a few sips of the salt-sugar water.

Tina's frown immediately changed into a look of concern and she squeezed his arm. "I know," she said softly, "But that doesn't change anything. You were drunk last night and hanging out with people you shouldn't. You can't do that, alright? They could've hurt you."

Sam shook his head eagerly, and then winced when his killer headache worsened with the motion. "No, no," he defended, "They would never do that. They're my friends."

Tina sighed but didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Sam looked away, his eyes on the floor.

"Were mom and dad very angry?" he asked hesitantly, like he didn't really want to know. He'd missed dinner last night and that was like the eighth deadly sin to his parents. Tina shook her head.

"No, they weren't even home last night. They were at the Wyndham Hart's cocktail party, remember?"

Sam smiled sadly. "Right. But today… Have they said anything?"

Tina shook her head. "No," she said, "They've been busy getting ready for that function thing tonight and said they were in hurry. I'm sure they'll give you a call later."

Sam didn't believe that for a second. His parents were always busy. Some things were more important to them than others; like how he was dressed and how he carried himself at their social functions. They didn't really care about how he was doing or how he was feeling.

"Yeah, whatever," he said sadly and slumped back in Tina's couch, "I'm tired. I think I'm gonna take a nap."

Tina pulled the blanket up to his chest and kissed him on the forehead. "Do that sweetie. You'll feel better soon, I promise."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

Tina pulled up to the yellow house and parked the Jag beside the red Volvo that was already parked there. She'd dropped off Sam's parents at the function and had decided to stop by here on the way home. She got out of the car and looked around warily. Sure, she'd hung around fancy people and lived in nice neighbourhoods for many years now but she wasn't stupid. Driving through a neighbourhood like this in a Jag was like screaming "In your face!" at the people who lived there, it would be considered flaunting, and would surely not go by unnoticed. If she'd had a choice she would have taken her car into town and not the Jag, but her car had broken down the day before and was at the mechanics.

She picked up pace – this would have to be a quick stop. She rang the doorbell, holding her breath as she waited for someone to answer the door. A couple of seconds later she heard the door unlock and then it opened. Rick stood in the doorway, dressed in red sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair on end, and he seemed very surprised to see her.

"Uh, hi," he said blankly, "What are you doing here?"

She straightened and glared at him. "I'm here to talk."

He chuckled, but there was no amusement in his tone. "Oh, you mean talk like you did last night when you yelled at me for twenty minutes?" He glanced around and shifted uncomfortably.

"I was upset," she said, "And I had reason to be." She looked over her shoulder quickly and then back at Dean. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk to you."

He frowned. "No?"

She shook her head and took a step forward. "No. I'm here to talk to your parents. Make sure this doesn't happen again."

"What?!"

She placed a hand on the door and shot him a dismissive look. "Yeah. So either you go get them right now or I'm coming in. What's it gonna be?"

He took a step back and looked at her dejectedly. It was the same submissive look Sam had given her a couple of hours earlier, and it pulled at her heartstrings just the same. "Look," she said; her voice not as stern this time, "You're probably a nice kid and all but it doesn't change the fact that what you did was wrong. And I'm just here to make sure it doesn't happen again."

He was quiet for a moment. "They're not here." _Yet._ It was a flat statement and his sad hazel eyes bore into her like a drill.

"Your parents aren't home?"

"No."

She disbelieved him, immediately and completely and pushed past him angrily. She was still too young to be concerned about manners. Dean quickly shut the door behind them and followed her inside.

"Hello?" she called out as she made her way through the house with Dean in her wake. "Mrs Schmidt? Mr Schmidt?"

"I told you," he said, "They're not home. Please, you have to leave now."

She shot him an angry look and called out again. But there was no one home, just like he'd said. She sighed inwardly and turned to leave. She'd made the trip here for nothing, just her luck.

She stomped out and didn't even bother to look over her shoulder at Dean who stood in the doorway, eyes following her shortly before closing the door.

"Dammit," she cursed under her breath, eyes down, as she dug around in her handbag for the car keys. She was so not in the mood for this. Her fingers closed around several objects - all of which were not the car keys. She groaned and stopped between the Jag and the Volvo, holding up the bag to see better.

"My, my, what have we here?" The guy's voice was so low it was almost a whisper.

She knew instantly that she was screwed; a young woman, alone, standing by a fucking Jag in the wrong neighbourhood. _Great!_ She wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. She turned around slowly and panicked when she saw there were two men standing there – not one.

"I think Barbie's lost," one of them said, sizing her up. She shifted uncomfortably in his gaze and wondered if she could make it back to the house before they could grab her and do…whatever they were planning to do. It was as if they could read her mind or something because they moved, positioning themselves between her and the house. She took a step back and glanced around, wondering if her screams would reach anyone who cared. Probably not.

"Taking the Jag for a spin?" the first guy said, his mouth forming an evil grin.

She remained quiet. There just wasn't a whole lot to say waiting to get mugged…or worse. It was as if everything stopped. There was no sound. No breeze. Nothing. And she stood paralyzed as they moved towards her in what she perceived as slow motion. And then suddenly they were on her, pushing her down on the lawn in front of the yellow house. She gasped and tried to scramble on her feet. They pushed her back down, mocking her weak attempts at getting away. She couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was like a dream, a surreal and scary one, but alarmingly real. The stillness was broken by her ear-splitting scream when one of the men shoved his hand under her skirt and grabbed her in places no man ever should without an invitation. She was punched hard and face planted in the grass with a weak gurgle.

Then all of a sudden she heard a soft _'oomph'_ and suddenly the men were off her. Then there was a loud crash that sounded like glass breaking into a million pieces, and someone screamed angrily behind her. Her head was spinning from the punch to her face and she was so shocked and scared she wasn't thinking straight. She covered her head with her arms and cried into the dirt, still lying on her belly in the grass. Then suddenly she was grabbed by the shoulder by someone and she yelped and tried to shake it off.

"Get up."

The voice sounded urgent and she recognized it as Sam's friend Rick's. She turned her head and gazed up at him with a look like one of a trapped animal. He held out his hand to help her up and she took it hesitantly. He pulled her to her feet and it was first then that she noticed the baseball bat in his hand. She looked around, expecting to see the two men lying unconscious on the ground or something. But they were gone. Her eyes stopped at a car parked behind the red Volvo. It wasn't there before, she thought. The windshield of the car was smashed and cracks ran like a cobweb from the place of impact.

"Where are they?" she asked, and winced as she touched the spot where she'd been punched.

"Gone," he answered in a low voice. She noticed that he was holding the baseball bat so hard his knuckles were turning white. "I said I called the cops. They took off," he continued.

"But you didn't?" She touched her cheek more gingerly this time and reached to pick her handbag off the ground.

"No," he said, "There wasn't enough time." He glanced around nervously and then turned back to her. "You should go."

She nodded slowly and stuck her hand in the handbag – this time her fingers closed around the car keys at once. "Thank you for…uh…" _For saving my life. _The words sounded lame, even to her, but she meant them. She really believed he'd just saved her life. He just nodded at her and then walked back up to the house, baseball bat dragging after in his hand.

She fumbled with the keys and got in the car. Her hands were still shaking and she had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm down before she could turn the key in the ignition and start the car. As soon as she'd driven out of the neighbourhood she called the cops.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

She was crying. And it was his fault.

"You fucking bastard!" Her eyes shot daggers and he was sure that if there'd been something to throw at him she would have.

"Penny, I'm sorry, I really am," he said softly, reaching out to her.

She stepped back. Tears sprung from her blue eyes and her long blonde hair was still wet and tousled from the shower.

"How could you use me like that!?"

He sighed inwardly. He'd already told her everything. How his children had wrongfully been taken from him. How he'd been looking for them for ten years. And that 'yes', he'd initiated their relationship simply to obtain the information he needed. But, he did actually love her. Not at first maybe, but now he did.

"Penny," he said, dark brown eyes meeting hers, "I'm usually not a guy who begs" – _and usually not one to pour my heart out like this_ – "…but…I'm begging you to see this from my point of view here. I haven't seen my sons for ten years. Ten. Years. You understand? I never hurt my children and CPS just took them from me – sent me to jail and sent them only God knows where. I need to find them. Can't you see that?"

No, she couldn't.

She was clearly not seeing or thinking straight; blinded by betrayal and the sudden hatred for him. And there was nothing he could do about that right now. He'd known when he'd approached her with the question only an hour earlier that this was a most sensitive issue and that he'd have to tread carefully. He never wanted to hurt her. Not really.

She was shaking with anger, fists clenched. And again the thought of her strong desire to physically hurt him crossed his mind. _Hell hath no fury…_ And maybe, maybe she knew he wouldn't fight back. He wasn't proud of what he'd done, but for his children, he could live with it.

**TBC (a horrible thing happens to Dean)**

Please, pretty please, review!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: :clearing throat and taking shaky breaths: Okay, here's the explicit account of what happened to my friend (only the last part is censored), and in this story Dean is the victim. It's in the last DEAN section and for those of you who are bothered by graphic violence should probably not read it.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter – and to the anonymous reviewers whom I couldn't reply to.

I worked really hard on the last section that touched my friend's story and he's approved of it.

Okay here it goes…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER SIX**

"_A witty saying proves nothing." -- Voltaire_

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_**Three weeks later...**_

**DEAN**

"C'mon Rick, keep up! You call that slo-mo running?!"

It was Friday and it was Dean's, Kyle's and Sam's last time jogging together before the big game Saturday and the game was all Sam talked about, or rather squeezed out between hitched breaths, as they ran. He was talking to Kyle though because Dean had fallen behind after a couple of blocks and had yet to catch up.

Dean shot Kyle an angry look from behind them and flipped him the finger. Kyle neighed and Sam laughed beside him.

"What's up with him?"

Kyle shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at Dean again. Although he was doing his damnedest not to show it, Rick was beginning to run funny, putting more weight on his left leg than his right. Kyle knew why and he grew serious all of a sudden. But when he turned back to Sam he was grinning.

"Keep going," he said, "We'll catch up. Or I will at least, hehe. Don't know about Frodo over there." Before Sam could say anything, or ask what he meant by 'Frodo', Kyle slowed his pace considerably, falling behind Sam, and waiting for Dean to catch up with him.

Sam kept going; still contemplating and musing over Kyle's fine ability to come up with weird nicks that only made sense to him.

"So how's your knee there, sir Limps-a-lot?" Kyle asked Dean as soon as they were running side by side.

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and glanced at Kyle with an annoyed expression.

"It's fine, Kyle," he replied curtly.

Kyle noticed Rick was now putting more weight on his right leg and frowned. Rick could be a real thick-headed son of a bitch sometimes. _What was he trying to prove? And to who?_

"Okay, man, whatever you say. See ya later."

Kyle stretched his stride to cover more ground and was soon running alongside Sam again.

"Is he getting tired?" Sam asked Kyle, "Because we could stop."

Kyle shook his head. "Nah, he's just being Rick." _A stubborn ass._

"What does that mean?"

Instead of answering, Kyle took off, yelling to Sam over his shoulder; "Race you back to the house!"

-----

Dean had stopped running as soon as the other two had disappeared. His knee was killing him, as were his ribs that had received some good punches the night before. Leaning forward, hands braced against his knees, he drew in a shaky breath. God it hurt.

He pulled up the right leg of his sweatpants and felt his knee gingerly. It was warm to the touch and a little swollen. Perfect, he thought. It would take a day at least before the swelling was down. He sighed and started walking back to his house, limping slightly.

-----

"Hello, Grumpy! We got ya some water!" Kyle pointed at the bottle of water he was holding up and shot Dean an evil grin, taking a sip. Dean snorted. He wasn't afraid of germs. Kyle and Sam were sitting on the lawn in front of his house, t-shirts discarded in the grass behind them; sweat glistening off of their backs. Sam motioned for Dean to sit down beside him. Dean snatched the bottle from Kyle and sat down with a soft groan.

Kyle got up and grabbed his shirt. "I have to bail…dinner," he said and pulled the shirt over his head. He nodded a silent 'later' at Dean and then punched Sam in the arm, "See ya at the game tomorrow, Striker."

Sam smiled. "Bye, Kyle!"

"Later, man," Dean murmured.

When Kyle had left Dean leant back in the grass and closed his eyes, willing the throbbing in his knee to go away.

"Still up for tonight?" Sam asked, sounding expectant, but also, as usual, prepared to be let down. Dean suspected Sam had probably been let down a lot by people in his life because he never took stuff for granted, and he never trusted promises.

"Sure," he replied and sat back up. The motion jarred his sore ribs and he winced and his arm curled around his ribcage protectively. Sure, he could watch a movie at Sam's house. He could do whatever as long as it didn't involve moving.

Sam looked at him weirdly. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said and smiled, but inwardly he was kicking himself for all the fucking grunts and moans he'd let slip. The last thing he wanted was to raise suspicions of people whose good intentions would only make things worse. "I'm fine, just out of shape is all."

Sam didn't look convinced. _Time to change the subject._

"So, we could rent that movie that just came out, uh, 'Broken Arrow'," he offered, hoping Sam would take the bait.

"Yeah, that would be great," Sam said eagerly. Almost too eagerly.

_Damn he was easy._

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam and Dean made their way up the spiral staircase to Tina's apartment.

"This is gonna be so great," Sam said. He was holding the videotape and a bag of chips in his hands and was practically jumping up and down with anticipation.

Dean laughed at him. "Dude, chill."

He'd hung out at Sam's house a couple of times now and Sam was always this excited when he came over. Some of Dean's friends thought Sam was clingy and way too needy but Dean liked him. He was fun to be around and he didn't ask too many questions. He could relax when he was with him and he liked that.

They'd spent the last couple of nights watching movies with Tina at her apartment.

It had been pretty awkward between him and Tina at first, seeing that the last time they'd met she'd almost been raped, but now 'way awkward' had morphed into 'somewhat uncomfortable' and it made it a little easier to hang out.

He wondered if she'd called the cops that night three weeks ago because no one had come by the house to take his statement and he hadn't heard about any recent arrests in the area. But that didn't really say much because police work never lead anywhere or to anything but dead ends and the wrong criminals. Then again, maybe she hadn't called the cops. Maybe she had just wanted to put what happened behind her as quickly as possible and forget. And maybe it was for the best. To just bury the past. Maybe if you dug a deep enough grave and made sure to forget its location everything bad would be lost and forgotten. _Yeah, right!_

-----

They were sitting on the couch with Sam squeezed in the middle.

"I love this movie," Tina said. Rick looked at Sam quizzically and then turned to Tina.

"You've seen it before?"

He seemed surprised by this but Sam wasn't. He knew Tina could watch a film a thousand times and not get sick of it – especially if it was a film with John Travolta in it.

"Yeah," she replied, "Three times actually."

Sam took a fistful of chips from the bowl on the coffee table and stuffed them in his mouth. "She got the hots for John Travolta," he explained, his voice muffled.

Rick almost choked on his Coke and had to cough a couple of times before he could speak. "John Travolta? You're kidding? But he's…old…and fat."

Tina looked offended. "No, he's not, he's sexy."

Sam laughed. He loved to tease Tina about the middle-aged actor. "You should see her when she watches 'Grease'," he told Rick, happy to include someone else in the mockery, "She practically licks the TV screen."

Tina slapped him on the back of his head. "Shut up!"

Dean smirked. _Women._

-----

"You don't have to drive me into town," Dean told Tina, "I can call a cab or walk."

"Walk? That would take all night. No, I'll drive you." She reached for her coat and turned to Sam who was still sitting on the couch, remote in one hand, a Coke in the other. "Sam, time for you to get back to the Big House," she said jokingly, "I don't want to come back and find you asleep on my couch."

Sam grunted in response and took a sip of his Coke. She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Dean who was waiting by the door.

"Let's go."

-----

They sat in an awkward silence for about ten minutes before Tina spoke up.

"I called the cops," she said. She didn't have to say anything else. Dean knew what she was talking about.

"You did?" He didn't look at her, just stared out the window and into the darkness outside.

"Yeah." She was quiet for a moment before continuing, "But I didn't tell them about you." She shot him a sidelong glance to see his reaction.

He shifted his gaze to her. "Why?"

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and peered out through the window, squinting, as if she was looking for the answer out there. "I don't know," she replied, "I just felt I shouldn't."

Dean didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing. They were quiet for what seemed like an eternity before Tina spoke again.

"I don't want Sam or anyone else to know about it."

"I won't tell anyone," Dean said. And he wouldn't because his entire life was a mass of secrets so he knew better than anyone why it was so important to keep them.

-----

He asked her to drop him off a couple of blocks away from his house, said he'd walk the rest of the way. She pulled to the side of the street and parked. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Thanks for the ride."

She gave him a small smile. "No problem."

He got out of the car slowly, careful not to jar his knee and smiled sadly. "I like your car."

He slammed the door shut before she could respond and waved to her through the window. She waved back before pulling out onto the street and driving off.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Vile deeds like poison weeds_

_Bloom well in prison air,_

_It is only what is good in man,_

_That wastes and withers there." – Oscar Wilde, 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol'_

He had heard the loud music from a block away and immediately felt that familiar pit in his stomach. _Crap!_ Apparently Marcus' party wasn't over. Low guitar riffs, the dull thumping of a bass and the occasional hihat sound every third beat or so reached his ears as he got closer. And inwardly he shuddered. He so did not need this right now. It was too fucking late and he had a soccer game to get to early in the morning. He'd promised Sam he'd be there.

He took a deep breath and walked up the steps to the front door. His hand paused at the door handle and he listened to the voices coming from inside; trying to make out how many they were. He recognized Marcus of course and his jackass of a buddy Hank. Then another voice that he didn't know. He considered the possibility of going to Kyle's and sleep there but was pretty sure Kyle's parents wouldn't approve of him showing up on their doorstep in the middle of the night.

He braced himself for the inevitable, opened the door and stalked inside. His eyes were set on the door to his room and he moved swiftly through the hall in what he guessed would've been a dead run had he not forced himself to go a little slower. _Almost there…_

"Hey!"

The voice startled him and his heart skipped a beat. The sound of that 'hey' didn't have that slurring drawl to it that was usually there whenever there was a party in the house. Instead the words rung with clarity, calm, and were too damn sober for Dean's liking. _Shit!_

"Ulrich get in here."

Dean turned slowly and walked into the living room. Marcus was slumped in an armchair smoking a cigarette and on the couch opposite from him was Hank and – Dean's heart almost stopped - a dark haired man whom he recognized as one of the men from three weeks before. It was the man he had hit in the head with a baseball bat. His heart raced in his chest and his mouth went dry. But the man didn't seem to recognize him. He merely shot Dean a quick glance before looking back at the TV. Seinfeld was on and the man laughed at Jerry Seinfeld's and George Costanza's feeble attempts at switching tapes on an answering machine. Dean had seen the episode before. Costanza had been his usual mess-up self and left some stupid message on his girlfriend's answering machine. And this was the scene where he and Jerry tried to exchange that tape for another so that George's girlfriend wouldn't dump him. Or something like it.

Dean was brought back to reality by Marcus' sharp voice. "Boy, go get me a beer from the fridge!"

Dean turned on his heels and went into the kitchen to get the beer. His hands were shaking when he walked across the living room floor and handed Marcus the beer. Marcus didn't notice. He snatched the bottle from him and took a long drag on his cigarette. Dean glanced over his shoulder at the dark haired man. His eyes were transfixed on the TV and he was shaking with laughter. Maybe he didn't remember Dean. Maybe the blow to his head had given him amnesia. Maybe it had been so dark out he hadn't seen him. Maybe…

Dean's reverie was broken by Marcus grabbing him by the arm and shoving him into the wall. "I said get the hell out of here! Go to your fucking room!"

Dean was happy to do so, he was relieved actually.

He shut the door to his room slowly and leant back against it with a shaky breath. He blew off taking a piss and brushing his teeth, he just didn't want to go out there again. He didn't turn on the lights in his room because he knew his way around anyway. He wriggled out of his sweater and t-shirt, kicked off his shoes and pulled down his jeans. He fumbled in the dark for his sweatpants and t-shirt and soon found them. He went to bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, listening for sounds from the living room. The music had stopped just as he had entered his room and it had been quiet for a while. Still was. He relaxed a little and closed his eyes, letting his mind float.

He'd almost fallen asleep when the door to his room was kicked open. He leapt out of bed in alarm and turned towards the open door with fear in his eyes.

Marcus was leaning against the doorpost, hand up by his face. A cigarette hung limply between his finger and thumb like a broken sixth finger. Dean didn't move because frankly, he was frozen to the spot with the heavy fear. His feet felt like they had been nailed to the goddamn floor underneath him. At least he appeared to stand his ground. Not that it brought him any comfort or anything.

"My buddy, Tony here…," Marcus said and nodded towards the dark haired guy who had stepped out from the shadows behind him, "…he says you hit him in the head with a baseball bat and smashed the windshield of his car. Did you do that? Did you fuckin' attack him?" The words were spoken in a sweet, soft whisper, but that didn't make it sound any less venomous.

Dean looked from Marcus to Tony and then to Hank who had suddenly appeared behind the other two. He wanted to run, but he couldn't. His feet were still stuck to the floor.

"Yeah," he answered flatly, no smugness whatsoever in his features. The act hadn't brought him any satisfaction then and it certainly didn't know. He'd done what he'd had to do, that was all.

"Well, Tony's a little pissed," Marcus went on. Dean just stared at him. He was trapped and there was no way in hell he'd get out of this. Not until Tony got retribution.

"Okay…" Dean's voice sounded muffled in his ears like it had had to break through a wad of cotton before reaching his eardrums. _Was that a submission or an Idon'tgiveashit_, he wondered. He wasn't really sure. He just stood there like a lump on a log, waiting to get axed into little pieces of splinter. He could see their muscles tensing, ready to react should he try and make a run for it. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

He waited silently, quite surprised actually that his frantically beating heart wasn't thudding in all of their ears - because it sure was in his. He tried to swallow but the little saliva that inhabited his mouth and throat at that moment was like glue and impossible to force down. And it had barely been there to begin with. He looked on with rising dread as Hank sauntered into his room, slithering closer and closer to him. The other two men moved further into his room as well and soon Dean was surrounded by the three. It was as if everything stopped. Dean wasn't breathing. He was waiting. Waiting for them to attack. But in the stillness he could sense Hank creeping up behind him and he tensed visibly. Marcus sneered, and before Dean knew it he was clobbered to the ground like an animal.

He groaned in agony and felt something warm and wet run from his ear. He realized with a hiss that Hank must've busted his eardrum when he hit him. He gasped and his hand shot up to protect his ear from further damage. There was stillness again and he lay in pain as the room spun around him, sound fading in and out of his right ear while he waited. Waited for another attack. And all of a sudden a boot connected with his already sore ribs and a mono sound scream left his lips. He managed to somewhat protect his head from the sudden onslaught of kicks that followed, but the rest of his body felt like it was being beaten to a bloody pulp. He took the hits with stifled sounds of pain.

"Don't knock him out!" his left ear caught, "I want him to feel it."

_Feel what?! The bone-breaking kicks? His fucking eardrum exploding and running out of his ear?_ No. And the answer came when he felt them grab him by the arms and drag him across the floor. _No!_ He let out a shaky breath and tried weakly to push them off. He was rewarded with the cracking sound of someone breaking his finger.

-----

Cold water was splashed on his face and he realized he must've blacked out. Weird, he hadn't noticed. He blinked when another splash of water rained down on him. The water was freezing cold. He shuddered out a breath between clattering teeth, not finding the energy to do anything but just that - breathe. His body felt weird. Wrong. And he tried to move his hands to assess whatever the damage. But someone grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him roughly to his side. Had he had the energy to groan he would've because the pull in his arm jarred his broken finger and it hurt like a bitch. He was pushed onto his belly and somehow found the energy to gasp in shock when his private parts, bared, touched cold tile floor. And it was then that it dawned on him…What he was supposed to feel.

His brain didn't even register the order from the spinal marrow before the reflex of flight brought him to his knees, scrambling to get up and away from them. The adrenaline surge gave his broken body enough strength to get up but not enough to escape them. He was grabbed by strong arms and shoved hard into the side of the bathtub, teeth cutting into his lip at the impact. Blood filled his mouth but he didn't have the strength to spit it out. His breath came in quick hitches, hysterics creeping up his throat and threatening to choke him. His legs were pulled back hard and the sudden jerk to his body had him crashing to the floor. His head connected with tiles, sending a shockwave of pain through his skull. What was really a pained scream only came out in a soft, pathetic gurgle because there was a pool of blood in his mouth and he was so fucking scared he couldn't even muster a cry.

Something cloth-like was forced into his mouth suddenly and in his mind he begged for them to stop – to stop now before they crossed that line and fucking killed him; **fucking** killed him. But no one heard his inner pleas for mercy. Instead he felt a force on his wrists; something pinning them down. He panicked and screamed, but it was really just a soft whimper.

_Pleasedontpleasestopjuststopitplease._

And then a sharp stab that sent him reeling into a black hole of endless pain. And again. And again, for he didn't know how long, until he was numb and was discarded like a broken toy.

**TBC**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Only got two things to say, 1. I'm still sick sniff and 2. please review!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

It was Saturday morning and the sun shone brightly outside the window of the small bathroom. Rays of light found their way through the window and flickered on the white tiles with joy of a beautiful day. But there were pools of blood on the floor and the dark crimson, stark against the white tiles, absorbed the light like a sponge soaking up water. And joyful rays were no more.

On the floor of the small bathroom was a motionless boy laying, his arms outstretched and resting in scarlet. His battered face twitched slightly and suddenly an eye opened to reveal a bleary hazel orb. The boy drew a shaky breath that ended in a soft moan when he tried to move. A fierce look of determination crossed his features instantly and an arm shot out in a heavy movement as the boy reached for the edge of the sink. When his hand rested safely on the porcelain there, his other hand was lifted and guided in the direction of the bathtub. It was a narrow space and the boy could hold on with both hands while he slowly got to his feet, face contorted with pain.

He swayed and quickly lowered himself onto the closed lid of the toilet, wincing when his behind connected with the cold surface. He leaned over the sink and watched himself in the mirror. It wasn't him but a pale stranger with a vacant look and one eye swollen shut that stared back at him. He looked away quickly and turned on the faucet. His right hand, with the broken finger, reached out and was held under the icy trickle of water as he closed his eyes again. He held his hand like that until his fingers were numb and the pain as good as gone, then he turned off the water and slowly rose to his feet again. This time he was steadier but climbing into the bathtub was far from effortless and he was panting heavily when he had finally set both feet in the tub. He turned on the shower with a shaking hand and then he stood there dressed in only a t-shirt, left hand pressed to the wall, right arm hanging limply at his side, head bowed, shivering while the hot water sprayed on him from above. He stood in that same position for almost half an hour before he got out and still shivering grabbed a towel that he wrapped around his hips with shaking hands.

He limped out of the bathroom, hand fisted in the towel and with the soaked t-shirt still on him. He took a deep breath and began what was probably his longest walk ever from the bathroom to his room.

He lowered himself onto the bed with a soft moan and crept under the covers, still dressed in the wet shirt and the towel. He brought his knees up to his chin as he crawled into a fetal position under the covers and began to rock back and forth.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

The midday Saturday sun shone brightly above their heads and annoyed everyone on the soccer field, including Sam, with its burning heat. Sam wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and ran up to Kyle and Coach Ritter who were standing by the sideline, t-shirts saturated with an hour worth of sweat. Kyle was fanning his face with a shinguard, a sour expression crossing his features as he peered up at the clear blue sky from under his cap. He didn't even notice Sam running up to him until Sam tapped him on the shoulder.

"Did you talk to him yet?" Sam asked. Kyle looked pissed and shook his head. "Nope," he replied.

"Get back on the field, Sam, we're in the middle of a game here," Coach Ritter said sharply, interrupting their conversation before it started. Sam had left the field several times already and Daniel was more than a little annoyed with his new midfielder for not focusing on the game.

Sam swallowed hard and looked to Kyle who made a gesture of holding a phone to his ear. Sam nodded gratefully and Kyle rolled his eyes and waved for him to get back to the game. Relieved that Kyle would give Rick another call Sam jogged back onto the field.

-----

They were in the second period and Rick had yet to show up. The sun's ascent had it positioned in a perfect spot where its flaming light completely blinded Sam's team as soon as they tried, squinting in vain, to advance with the ball. Consequently it offered the opposing team several opportunities to counterattack and score.

The sun's persistent glare had turned Kyle into a fuming mess whose temper was only fuelled by Sam's equally persistent nagging about calling Rick. Kyle had already made several calls to Rick's house but hadn't managed to get a hold of him or his parents.

Rick's absence was beginning to really worry Sam because Rick had promised he'd come to watch the game no matter what. Sam had told Kyle this but Kyle had just looked at him like he was an alien and shrugged, seeming to be more pissed at Rick than worried about him. But all the phone calls proved otherwise and Sam knew most of Kyle's bad mood originated from the pressing heat rather than Rick standing them up.

The game ended 5-0 to the opposing team and after the final whistle Daniel strode out onto the field and gathered his team to express his deep disappointment in a typical angry Coach manner. When he was finished Sam pushed past the other kids to go talk to Kyle.

"Kid, if you ask me to call him one more time I'll strangle you," Kyle grunted under his breath when he saw Sam approaching. He dropped the shinguard onto the ground and steeled himself for another onslaught of sad puppy looks. But Sam wasn't going to ask any more favours.

"I'm gonna stop by his house on my way home, see if he's there," he said, "You wanna come with?"

Kyle gave him a dirty look. "Will you drop it already! He's not there or he would've picked up the fuckin' phone at least once out of the twenty friggin times I called." He sighed and took of his cap to run a hand through his dark and currently very damp hair.

Sam rolled his eyes at him. "Whatever. I'm going."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_I remember, I remember,_

_The house where I was born,_

_The little window where the sun_

_Came peeping in at morn;_

_He never came a wink too soon, _

_Nor brought too long a day,_

_But now, I often wish the night_

_Had borne my breath away." – Thomas Hood, 'I remember'_

He awoke from his restless slumber when the phone rang. His left ear caught the signals that resounded throughout the house like nasty, piercing echoes of the night's horrible events and he shuddered and curled into a ball. The ringing continued mercilessly, like so many other things, and he tried to ignore it and regain his hold on the peace and quiet that was sleep. A minute later the ringing stopped and he relaxed again.

But just as he was about to fall back into the darkness the phone rang again with an even shriller signal than before. Whoever was calling wasn't giving up. He groaned and moved awkwardly under the covers, trying to gain control of his limbs and get up to answer the phone. The sudden shift from lying stock-still to moving sent a wave of agony through him and his body screamed in protest against the sudden onslaught of pain. A raw, guttural sound left his lips and his face contorted. And the phone kept ringing.

He took a deep breath before pulling himself up with his good hand. He then stood there by the bed, swaying slightly as he fought the pain-induced nausea that suddenly threatened to overtake him. All the while the phone kept ringing. He swallowed a couple of times before reaching for the phone. His hand closed around the receiver and just as he was about to pick it up the ringing stopped. He sighed because now he was up and with the effort it had taken he wasn't planning on lying down again anytime soon. He limped to the wardrobe and took out some clean boxers, a t-shirt and some sweatpants. It took forever to get dressed and when he was finally done the clean clothes weren't so clean anymore. He dropped the towel to the floor and tried to ignore the fresh bloodstains that tainted the white fabric.

He realized he had to clean up before his foster parents got home and slowly made his way back to the small bathroom. He went inside, closed and locked the door and went to work. Not once while he cleaned up did he look down on the tiled floor beneath his bare feet. Not once. And while he stood in there, letting water wash away the evidence of his suffering, the phone rang again. But he didn't hear it because his deaf ear was turned to the door.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_The Stranger within my gate,  
He may be true or kind,  
But he does not talk my talk—  
I cannot feel his mind.  
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,  
But not the soul behind._

The men of my own stock  
They may do ill or well,  
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,  
They are used to the lies I tell.  
And we do not need interpreters  
When we go to buy and sell." – Rudyard Kipling, 'The Stranger'

Sam jumped out of the cab and handed the driver a twenty.

"I'll be right back," he said. The driver slipped the money into his pocket and nodded.

Sam looked up at the yellow house. It seemed quiet. The red Volvo was gone and there were no lights on inside. He walked up the steps to the front door and hesitated. He didn't know why but he suddenly felt very uneasy, almost frightened, and he could've sworn he was smelling blood. He drew a sharp intake of breath and leaned against the door. _What the hell is going on?!_ He closed his eyes and willed the unexplained fear to go away. But the smell of blood lingered. It was as if he'd just had a nosebleed and still could taste copper in his mouth and smell it whenever he breathed in through his nose. He frowned and breathed through his mouth instead. He wasn't worried anymore, he was scared. Scared for Rick, and scared for himself.

He rang the doorbell and waited anxiously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. No one came to answer the door. He put his ear to the door and listened but he couldn't hear anything. He rang the doorbell again because something told him it was necessary. He thought he heard something, like a door slamming shut, and rang the doorbell again. He waited for over a minute before he finally accepted that the house was empty and turned to leave. Then just as he was walking down the front steps he heard the door open behind him. He jerked around and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of his friend.

"My God!" he exclaimed, "Rick, are you okay?"

Rick looked at him with the one eye that wasn't completely swollen shut and swallowed hard. "Come inside," he said in a raspy voice. Sam nodded. He waved dismissingly to the cab driver and then followed Rick inside.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at the game," Rick said as soon as he'd shut the door.

Sam gave him an incredulous look. "Forget about the game," he said, "What the hell happened to you?"

Rick shifted uncomfortably and glanced away. "I, uh, got mugged last night." He hesitated. "I asked Tina to drop me off a couple of blocks from here because I wanted to take a walk. But when I had walked a block or so I got jumped by these guys. I wasn't paying attention and they caught me off guard. Knocked me around pretty good too."

Sam nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. But it wasn't okay. He didn't believe Rick had been mugged. It was a poor neighbourhood and Sam seriously doubted anyone here had anything worth to steal. People who needed money didn't rob people like Rick, they robbed people like Sam.

He watched Rick in silence, trying to conceal his mistrust. It bothered him that Rick felt he had to lie to him but he wasn't gonna confront him with it either. Something told him that whatever Rick was hiding, he was doing it for a good reason. And who was he to question it. "You're pretty banged up," he said instead, eyes scanning his older friend, "Maybe you should go to the hospital, have a doctor examine you…"

Rick smiled sadly. "No, it's okay. It's just bruises."

Somehow Sam had a hard time believing that. Rick was limping, breathing shallowly and his whole posture was screaming agony. He could be badly hurt, he could have internal bleeding.

Sam's reverie was broken by Rick slapping him in the back. "So, how'd the game go? Did you score?" He sounded cheerful. Fake cheerful.

Sam shook his head. "Uh, no, we lost…0-5."

Rick frowned. "Well, that sucks!" He started for a door to their right. "You want a Coke to drown your sorrows?"

Sam smirked. "Sure."

Sam followed Rick into the kitchen and sat down by the small table by the window. He looked on in silence as Rick opened the fridge. There was a photograph of a young boy taped on the fridge and he studied it while Rick searched the interior for two Cokes.

"Is that you in the photo?" Sam asked.

Rick didn't answer him. It was as if he hadn't heard the question. "Rick?"

But there was no reaction. Rick's hand came out holding two Cokes and he turned to Sam with a small smile.

"So tell me more about the game," he said as he uncapped and handed Sam his Coke. Sam accepted it and waited for Rick to sit down across from him. But he didn't, he remained standing, leaning against the wall. Sam found it odd.

"Aren't you gonna sit down?" he asked.

Pain flared in Rick's eyes and he shook his head. "No, I'm good. So, the game?"

Sam sighed. "Not much to tell," he said, "We sucked. I sucked. Kyle was pissed. We lost."

Rick laughed and looked away quickly. Sam watched him intently, he was pretty sure he had just seen Rick wince.

"Kyle was pissed at you for losing?"

Sam shook his head. "No, it was the heat."

Rick gave a smile of recognition and nodded slowly. "Right." He took a sip from his Coke and looked everywhere but at Sam. His behaviour was creeping Sam out.

Sam cleared his throat. "Rick, is that you in the photo on the fridge?" he asked.

Rick turned towards the fridge to look at the picture. "No, man. It's Ulrich. Their real son. He died a month or so, I think, after this photo was taken."

"What?" Sam had a hard time wrapping his mind around what Rick had just said. _Wasn't Rick Ulrich? And what did he mean by their 'real' son?_

"Aren't you their real son?" he asked confused.

Rick smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He shook his head and took another sip from the bottle he was holding before he answered. "No, I'm their foster son." He said it like it was the most natural thing. As if it was no big deal. And Sam wondered if Rick really thought he could break this kind of thing to him and then just expect him to shrug it off like it was nothing.

Rick obviously didn't expect him to say or do anything because he turned away from Sam to look at the photograph again. And while he was studying it, Sam was studying him.

It had bothered him before when Rick hadn't trusted him enough to tell the truth. But he had accepted it because he'd figured he'd had a good reason not to tell him. Now after Rick had shared something really personal with him he wondered what that reason could be and why Rick felt he couldn't tell him.

Looking at Rick's bruised face again Sam realized something. This family's real son had died and had been replaced with a foster son. The real Ulrich had died and a new Ulrich had been put in his place. Sam felt his throat constrict. "Your real name isn't Ulrich, is it?"

**TBC **(Dean and Sam finally learn they are brothers. John POV is back.)

**Please review! ****(Again)**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: God, I'm wiped! This has been quite the daunting chapter to write because every section in it is so important. I thought I'd never finish this chapter. But finally - eyes bleeding, ears ringing, fingers aching - I here present to you: Chapter Eight. Please feed the muse and post a review!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it." -- Douglas Adams, 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'_

Rick didn't look at him. His one eye shifted from the little boy in the photo on the fridge to the window and he drew a short, shallow breath. He seemed calm but Sam could see that his hands were trembling. Rick's fingers curled and uncurled around the Coke in his hand in a way that unnerved Sam. He wasn't sure what bothered him about the action; the fact that his question had caused such turmoil of emotion in his friend or the fact that the bottle would with most certainty soon slip from Rick's hand and hit the floor in a cascade of shards and carbonated foam. He waited breathlessly for Rick to say something. Anything.

Rick swallowed hard but then a small smile crept upon the collage of colours that was his face and Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was more of a from-the-heart smile than Rick had ever shown before. It was warmer. More real.

"No, it isn't." The admission was blunt but soft, spoken in a whisper, and it shook Sam to the core.

He grabbed the edge of the table as if to steady himself from the shock of the revelation. His sensitive dark eyes darted around the room as his thoughts swirled around in his confused mind. Knowing your friend's name was something fundamental. And if it had been a lie then what was everything else? Sam was a firm believer that a name, just like a person's eyes, was linked to the person somehow. If the eyes were the windows to the soul then the name was the connection between your personality and the outside world.

"What is your real name?" His voice sounded strange, like it wasn't his own.

Rick turned to him slowly and looked him right in the eye.

"Dean."

_Dean?_ It wasn't half bad. It even sounded familiar and not at all as foreign as Sam had thought it would.

"But if your real name is Dean, why do your parents call you Ulrich?"

"Because they changed my name to Ulrich when they adopted me."

That didn't make sense to Sam. Why would someone change someone else's name like that? "Then how do you know your real name?" He was confused to say the least.

Rick shrugged. "Because I remember it. I wasn't a baby when they adopted me, I was seven."

Sam was stunned. He would've never believed Rick was adopted. It was cool though, a connection between them. They had both been torn from their families, their rightful place in the world, and then put somewhere else to fill a void for strangers.

"I was adopted too," he said. He wanted Rick to feel close to him – the way he felt close to Rick – _uh, Dean_ - It would take some getting used to, the name change.

Dean looked taken aback. "What? You were adopted?"

Sam nodded and smiled. "I was three years old when I was adopted. I wasn't a baby either…but I don't remember as much as you. …Only that I had a dad and an older brother."

Dean's eyes widened. "Samuel is your real name, right?" he asked in a whisper.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I guess they liked it or they would've probably changed it too," he said sincerely, and he was sure of it.

The colour drained from Dean's face. Even the bruises seemed to fade into lighter tones of red, black and blue as he got paler and paler. Sam wondered why. _Was it so hard to believe that he too had been adopted?_

Dean walked up to him, closing the gap between them in two quick strides. He shook Sam by the arm impatiently.

"Do you have a birthmark on the sole of your left foot?" he asked.

_Okay, random. Where did that come from?_ "Uh, yeah, I do actually. How did you know?"

Dean set his Coke on the table with a shaky hand and grabbed the edge of the table in the same way Sam had just moments before. "I need to sit down," he squeezed out.

Dean looked like he would topple over any second so Sam stood quickly and held out his chair for him. His friend slumped down on the chair and winced when his ass made contact with the seat. His hands were still gripping the edge of the table.

"Holy crap," he breathed.

Whatever Dean was feeling Sam was starting to feel it too; his breath stolen, heart beating faster, a static noise in his ears. But he had no idea why. "What's wrong?"

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. That word is love." -- Sophocles_

Dean squeezed the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were turning white. And at the same time white spots danced in his vision. He felt slightly dizzy – but in a good way for once.

_This is fucking huge!_ It can't be. It was too good to be true. But their names, the fact that they were both adopted… _And Sam's birthmark_…

-----

"_One…two…three, baby Sammy look at me…"_

_Dean was on his knees leaning over baby Sam who was lying on a towel on the floor. The baby giggled when Dean squeezed each of his toes and as if on cue his dark, chocolate brown eyes turned to his older brother._

"_Four…five…six…seven, one little kiss and I'll be in heaven…"_

_Dean bent down and closed his lips around Sammy's big toe, nibbling on it affectionately. Baby Sam squealed and cooed happily. Dean rubbed his thumb over his brother's foot, rubbing circles on the birthmark there. _

"_Eight…nine…ten, if you're ticklish--"_

"_Dean! Stop that!" John snapped and stepped through the door. He was holding two duffel bags in his hands and three blankets were slung over his shoulder. _

"_But daddy he likes it when…"_

"_I told you to change his diaper, Dean. Do it."_

_Dean hesitated. He was confused. Mommy had sung to Sammy when she changed his diapers. He'd seen it. Didn't daddy know? _

_But John was apparently unaware of that fact. He frowned at his son when the boy failed to comply. _

"_Do as you're told," he said, "I showed you how to do this yesterday. Do you remember what to do?"_

_Wanting to please his dad, Dean nodded eagerly. He remembered. He could do it. "Yes, sir." _

"_Good. Then do it."_

_John left and shortly thereafter Dean could hear him jostle through the front door with load after load of their belongings. They were moving again and John had left Sammy with Dean, trusting him to take care of the baby while he packed and loaded the car. Dean was more than happy to help out. Ever since _that_ night he'd vowed to take care of his brother; promised himself he'd always keep him safe and shelter him from harm. _

_He picked up Sammy carefully and cradled him in his arms. His brother's warm baby skin was soft against his and he breathed in the sweet scent of baby hair._

"_I'm gonna take care of you, Sammy," he whispered, "Forever." _

-----

Dean inhaled sharply and gasped at the pain it brought him to breathe that deeply. He felt Sam's hand squeeze his shoulder and closed his eyes at the touch. He hadn't been touched like that in a long time – and not touched like touched in a creepy way, but touched by someone who cared. It felt good.

"Rick…uh…Dean, you in there, man?" Sam's voice sounded far away. "Hey, what's wrong?"

He took another breath - this time a calmer, shallower one and forced himself to look at Sam.

"I think," he faltered, swallowing saliva, "I think we might be brothers."

He watched Sam's eyes widen and waited for the 'what!?' outburst to come.

"What!?"

There it was.

Sam gaped at him. He looked shocked and a little doubtful. Dean didn't blame him. He wasn't exactly the ideal brother, he knew that.

"Who whatting huh is what?"

Sam sounded like a blabbering fool and hadn't the situation been so uncomfortable Dean would've laughed at him.

"I think we might be brothers," he repeated, "I had a brother who was four years younger than me and his name was Samuel. And he had a birthmark like yours."

"What?!…" Sam raked a hand through his dark mop of hair, "…I mean, it can't be. Can it?" He breathed out slowly trying to calm down. "It's just…it's not possible. Is it?"

Dean shrugged. "Why not? It makes sense." _It explains a lot. More than you think._

Sam still looked unconvinced, and quite shaken, and was still staring at Dean with his mouth slightly agape.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_Love is not blind - it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less." -- Rabbi Julius Gordon_

He took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the table with a grimace. The coffee was cold and stale. He'd been sitting in that booth inside that diner for nearly two hours - no wonder the coffee tasted like shit. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his temples ruefully; he'd had a killer headache ever since that fight with Penny. God, he'd been a real bastard. He sighed and opened his wallet. He'd already asked for the check, he just hadn't come around to paying yet. He pulled out a couple of bills, the numbers on them escaping his tired eyes, and threw them on the table beside the coffee cup before getting up to leave. Boy was the waitress in for a nice surprise.

He walked back to the car in a daze. He'd had a backup plan all along. He just wasn't the biggest fan of it and would have preferred not to have to execute it. But he would because if it would get his family back it would be worth it. He wasn't easily dejected - not even after ten years of getting his hands dirty and receiving nothing but disappointment for his trouble.

He grubbed around his pocket for the keys to the Impala and fisted them with a deep sigh. Back to the search. Back to the road. The car door squeaked when he slammed it shut behind him and he leant back in the seat with a soft moan. God, he was tired. He closed his eyes and let his mind float. But before he could totally space out a shrill ringing began from inside the glove compartment. He groaned. He'd stuffed the ugly, heavy thing in there before going to the diner and had completely forgotten about it. He reached into the compartment and pulled out the less than slender cellular phone.

"Hello?"

"John."

The voice that came through the buzzing of the line was painfully familiar.

"Penny. Never thought I'd hear from you again," he said, covering the shock in his voice with a cheery tone. He shifted the phone from his left ear to his right.

"Well, that makes two of us." Her voice was soft and there was no anger lacing her words this time.

"So, what ya want?" _This oughta be interesting_.

She didn't reply at first and static filled the line. John grew impatient. "You gonna talk or what?" he asked, "Because I got better things to do than sit here with this fuckin' brick in my hand listening to you breathing into my ear."

She exhaled loudly. "John, you're a real asshole, you know that?" She paused and sighed, apparently sick of fighting. "I pulled up the information you needed. Got the location of your sons right here in my lap. Thought you might wanna know…"

John jerked into an upright position and hissed when he hit his head on the roof of the car. That was about the last thing he'd expected her to say. "What?" he squeezed out, heart racing in anticipation.

"You heard me," she snapped, but quickly continued. "Just so you know; I didn't do this for you. I did it for your sons. And since my ass is on the line here I demand that you handle this information with care and go about your business stealthily. We clear?"

He nodded and then realizing she couldn't see him, he muttered a low, "Crystal."

"Good."

She then proceeded to give him the precious information. He was surprised to find his sons lived only two states away. Hell, he'd even driven through their town not that long ago. But what was really surprising, and also very bothering, about the whole thing was that his sons had different addresses. Not only had CPS separated them from him but also from each other. Just the thought of them doing something like that broke his heart. In their quest to save his sons from him they'd failed, or ignored, to see the strong bond between his sons. Breaking them apart was the worst thing they could have possibly done – like ripping out each of his sons hearts. One brother couldn't function without the other. It had been like that since Mary had died and he was sure that was still the case.

According to Penny, Sam's family had moved around quite a lot while Dean's foster family had lived at the same address for twenty years. Fate seemed to have landed them in the same city though and for that John was grateful. It made things a lot easier.

But things weren't quite that simple, Penny reminded him. Her pulling up the information from the CPS database was like, as she phrased it; 'waving a muleta in front of a bull'. If the boys went missing, the first thing CPS would do was to pull their files and look for flagged entries. A flagged entry in this case would be a recent hit to the boys' profiles in the database. Every hit would be thoroughly inspected and every user who had pulled those files would have to explain the reason of their entry. So to not raise suspicion Penny had covered her tracks by staging control visits to each of the boys' families. Within a couple of days a CPS official would visit the families to see how the boys were doing. By telling him this she was indirectly advising him to wait until the control visits had taken place before he did something rash like snag his boys. She knew what he was planning to do. She wasn't stupid.

"Penny," John said softly after having scribbled down his sons addresses on the back of a cash receipt, "I don't know how to thank you…"

"I do," she said forcefully. "Get your sons, keep off radar and don't breathe a word about this to anyone."

"Penny, I--"

"Save it," she snapped, interrupting him. "I don't want your damn apology. We never met and this conversation has never happened. Okay?"

He breathed out through his nose slowly and closed his eyes. He was gonna regret how he'd treated her for the rest of his life. "Sure, Penny. Thank you."

She breathed through the line - three soft breaths of goodbye, before she hung up on him. He sat in his car long after the phone call had ended; phone still pressed to his ear, fingers frozen around it.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"You really think we're brothers?" he asked breathlessly. But in his heart he'd already answered his own question. He felt it. Like finding the missing piece to a puzzle. Like a broken link mended. They were brothers and now he was complete.

Dean looked wiped all of a sudden. He ran a hand over his bruised face and looked at Sam brokenly. "I'm probably not what you expected, I get that you--"

"No. No, it's not that." _It's not like that at all!_ Sam was shocked that Dean would even think that. "I'm just a little….surprised."

Truth be told he was confused. Confused as to where to go from there. His friend was suddenly not his friend anymore but his brother and he didn't know what to do with that. How did you talk to your brother? Was it any different from talking to your friend? Did you hug him? Because right now he wanted to soothe Rick - Rick who was his friend. But this was Dean – his brother. He wondered if it would be weird if he hugged him.

He stood there frozen to the spot next to his…brother, hesitating and contemplating what to do. But before he could say or do anything the front door opened and a woman called out.

"Ulrich, we're home!"

Dean practically leapt off his chair to grab Sam. "You have to go. Now," he said; his voice in a soft, but urgent, whisper. He pulled Sam by the arm anxiously and pointed to a door leading to the back of the house. "Go through the backdoor."

Sam looked at him confused. "What? Why?"

Dean said nothing, he just dragged Sam towards the door.

"Wait, wait," Sam objected in a whisper, still confused as to the reason of the sudden dismissal, but obviously picking up on the necessity to whisper. "We have to talk about this."

Dean pushed him through the door and into the living room with an effort. "We'll talk later. Okay?"

They had made it to the back of the house when a middle aged man suddenly stepped into the room.

"Ulrich."

Dean froze in his tracks and turned around to face the older man. "Yes, sir?"

"Christ, Ulrich, what happened to your face?" a woman cried from behind the man. She crossed the room in three quick strides and grabbed Dean by the shoulders. He stood silent, body rigid as her small hands moved upwards, cupping his face to have a closer look at the damage. He winced at her touch but she didn't seem to notice. Sam did though and he watched in disgust as the woman snorted in Dean's face before pinching his chin between bony fingers. "Doesn't look that bad. You've been in a fight, haven't you?" she asked. It sounded more like a statement than a question. Sam bit his lip and glanced at Dean furtively.

Dean didn't say anything at first. He had a vacant look in his eyes. A look that chilled Sam to the bone.

"No, ma'am," he finally said, eyes shifting nervously to the older man, "I got, uh, mugged last night."

Sam studied the man and the woman, Dean's foster parents, in silent indignation. They didn't seem to be the least concerned about Dean. _Didn't they care?_

"Mugged?" The man sounded doubtful.

Dean nodded slowly. His eyes turned to Sam and they locked gazes briefly. "But," he paused to draw a shallow breath, "I'm okay." He hesitated shortly before continuing; "It's not that bad."

Sam turned to him with an incredulous look. _Not that bad?!_ He couldn't fuckin' breathe without wincing from the pain, dammit. He was far from okay.

Dean's foster parents exchanged knowing looks and then the woman turned to Dean, her lips in a thin line. "I need your help in the kitchen later."

"Okay," Dean said softly and she nodded in response before leaving the room.

The man looked after her and as his eyes travelled across the room he caught sight of Sam. He turned to Dean as he spoke, but his stone gray eyes were trained on Sam.

"Who's this?" the man asked.

Dean cleared his throat. "It's my friend, Sam, sir," he replied.

The older man sized Sam up with a look of pure disgust. Sam shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and wondered what he'd done to deserve such a look. Dean's foster dad was huge, taller than Sam. And very intimidating. Sam was amazed that Dean wasn't shaking like a leaf with fear, because he sure was.

Finally the man looked away. Sam relaxed as the man shifted his gaze to Dean instead.

"Ulrich, your mom is tired after the trip," the man said in a gruff voice, "We don't want little kids running around the house."

Sam raised his eyebrows at that. _Little kids?_

Dean shot a quick look in Sam's direction as if to make sure he was still there. "That's okay," he told his foster dad, "He was just about to leave. Right, Sam?" He turned to Sam again, eyes pleading.

Sam found himself nodding in agreement. "Yeah."

"Good," the man said. And that was final.

Dean followed Sam to the backdoor and offered a small reassuring smile. 'I'll call you later,' he mouthed. Sam nodded and glanced over Dean's shoulder at his foster dad. The man had seemed to grow angrier and angrier the closer Sam got to the door - and suddenly Sam was afraid to leave Dean alone in that house. He turned around, ready to step back inside but Dean pushed him through the door resolutely with a sad smile.

Fear gripped Sam's heart and he wanted to scream 'No! Don't go back in there', but instead he took a step back, looked at Dean warily and said nothing.

Before closing the door Dean reached out and squeezed Sam's shoulder lightly. He smiled but it was that fake smile again and not the warm, from-the-heart smile like before. Sam returned it but was sure that his smile looked just a fake as Dean's.

The door slammed shut with an ominous bang and Sam gulped when screaming erupted from the house. He took a couple of steps onto the lawn and then sat down to listen. It was his way of offering support - by staying there.

**TBC**

**Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I hate those pesky bridge chapters and yet here is another – and worse it's written by me. (Yay! I can hear the cheers already! Not!) Anyway, it's pretty slow but it's, you know, a bridge chapter so no surprise there. I've busted my ass with this. Somehow chapters with the biggest plot outlines are the worst to write. Go figure.

About the story… The song John listens to in the car is AC/DC's 'Given the dog a bone'. I'm also issuing a WARNING for the sections written in ITALICS. There is some disturbing material in those and I'm mentioning (implying or whatever) rape. If you don't like – don't read.

Also, I had a statistics exam last week and it went to hell so, pretty please with sugar on top, cheer me up with a review. :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER NINE**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons." -- Oscar Wilde, 'De Profundis'_

-----

_They took brief breaks in between rounds. For him it never ended. _

_The sound of roaring laughter filled the room and bounced off the walls in the narrow space. But in his head it was all reduced to one silent, desperate cry – brought on by a pain so great he could think of nothing else. His breathing was ragged, torn from all the screaming, and left a burn in his throat with every hitched exhale. Whenever his body tried to shut down to protect him from the pain and humiliation they splashed cold water on him to bring him back to them. _

_They were killing him slowly from the inside and out and he wished for it to be over, for him to be released from the pain, the agony, from the shame. Just fuckin' kill me already, he begged silently. The voice in his head was raw, empty, a whisper even though he wanted to scream. _

_But whatever the big plan was it wasn't to release him from this._

_The break was over and he was grabbed by unmerciful hands again. There really was no need for them to tie him down; they were three against one and much stronger than him. Still, he could feel his arms being pulled back and pinned. And his pain drugged mind registered a weight on his legs and back. A soft whimper left his body but died away on his lips when met by fabric. _

_And then it continued. _

-----

He jerked awake with a scream and then gasped when a searing pain shot through him like a jolt of electricity. _Okay, no sudden movements._ Deep, heavy shudders wreaked his body and he could do nothing to stop them. He panted heavily and felt with his hand over his chest. His heart was racing. He took a few shallow, going on deep, agonizing breaths to calm down, but the pain it brought him to breathe like that only made him tenser and more agitated.

He wiped a hand over his tired eyes and wasn't surprised to find he was crying – his eyelashes damp with salty moisture. He let out a low, bitter laugh. Every day he tried so hard to be strong, to hold everything together and not break, but truth be told, inside he was already shattered and everything he held back in the day returned to him tenfold at night. He didn't cry when he was punished, when they mocked or beat him. He never cried for them to see or hear. But at night when the nightmares came his weak defenses crumbled under the pressure and he often woke up crying like a fuckin' baby and shaking like a leaf. He hated it. He hated his body for betraying him.

He wiped angrily at the tears and leant back against the wall with a groan. God, he was so tired of it all - of being alone, of always being afraid and in pain.

He ran a hand through his short hair and stared blindly into the darkness of his room. _What time is it?_ His eyes landed on the red digits of his alarm clock and he sighed. _3:30._ _Perfect._ There was no way in hell he'd go back to sleep after that nightmare. He crawled off the bed with a wince and barely managed to stifle a scream when his broken finger caught in a fold in the covers. _Shit!_

There had been other aches and pains that had been a lot worse and that had bothered him more than that of his finger, so he'd almost forgotten about it. Well, up until now at least. He cradled his hand against his chest and got to his feet with a soft hiss. It was more painful to get out of bed than he remembered.

He limped out of his room and down the hallway towards the bathroom. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced; he looked like hell on legs. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the zinc oxide tape. He'd taped broken fingers before, only the fractures then had been sports related and not inflicted by a person. He winced as he wrapped the tape around his ring finger and then around his middle finger for support. The pain was bad and the swelling made his finger look like a small cucumber – except it wasn't green of course. He tossed the tape roll into the bathtub and left the bathroom without bothering to close the cabinet.

He limped into the living room and slumped down on the couch with a hiss. He didn't want to go back to sleep so he might as well watch TV for a while. He turned it on and quickly muted it. He'd already made a mess in the bathroom, which would most certainly piss off Reinhold in the morning, and he didn't want to push his luck. He flipped through the channels with a deep frown; infomercial after infomercial after infomercial. TV networks sure didn't go out of their way to entertain the late night viewers, he established with a soft sigh. But then he flipped to another channel and was thrilled to discover that Simpsons was on.

He watched for a couple of minutes as Homer Simpson went through a wall and into a 3D world but soon got bored. The Simpsons just wasn't as funny without sound.

Around the time the 3D world collapsed on itself Dean was fast asleep and dreaming again.

-----

"_Do you feel this?"_

_He was barely conscious, but yes he felt it. He received another vicious kick to his right hip and cried out, or rather whimpered, in agony. But before the sensation of fire in his hip had subsided another pain assaulted him. It was Tony again, using a beer bottle in a way that a sane person would've never thought of. This time Dean screamed – really screamed – and they taunted him for it and laughed. _

-----

Dean awoke with a stifled gasp, almost as if that cloth was still in his mouth, and looked around him in panic. Realizing he was alone and safe, or as safe as could be, he buried his face in his hands. He was so fucking scared he was shaking. '_Get a hold of yourself! You're pathetic!'_ he berated himself as a soft sob escaped him.

There wouldn't be a second.

He took a deep breath and winced at the searing pain it brought his lungs. He had to get out of there.

Ten minutes later he was walking down the street towards the high school. It was cold out and he shivered hard in his t-shirt and sweatpants. Hands in his pockets, ducking his head against the cold wind, he walked block after block. He passed the high school and the nearby shopping mall, but he didn't stop, he just kept walking.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the Phoenix." -- Christina Baldwin_

Sam and Tina were watching TV when the doorbell rang. Tina took a sip of her tea and signalled for Sam to get the door. He got up with a low grunt and made his way to the door, stopping every other step to scratch his butt. He'd awakened with a strange itch that morning and it still hadn't gone away.

"Sam, stop that," Tina called from behind him. "It's disgusting."

Sam made a face but pulled away his hand from inside his pants and wiped it on the right leg of his pyjamas. He looked into the peephole and was surprised to see Dean standing there. He opened the door and looked right into his friend's…brother's battered face.

"Dean, what are you doing here?" he asked confused. "I thought we'd decided to meet at the soccer field later today."

Dean gave a small smile, his eyes downcast. "We did. But I wanted to go for a walk and just kinda ended up here."

"You walked all the way here?" Sam said incredulously. "Are you crazy? We're almost twenty miles out of the city."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I know." He shivered and it was then Sam noticed he wasn't wearing a jacket.

"Shit, Dean," he exclaimed. "If you planned to walk a marathon you could've at least put on a jacket."

Dean looked annoyed. "You gonna let me in or not? I'm freezing my ass off here."

Sam opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. Dean pushed past him and Sam noted that he was limping more now than he had the day before. Probably from all the walking, he thought. _Stupid sonuvabitch._

"Sam, who's at the door?!" Tina called out from the living room. She was probably wondering what was taking him so long.

"Uh, it's just me," Dean answered before Sam could.

"Rick? What are you doing here?" She sounded surprised.

The surprised look on her face quickly changed into a shocked expression the instant he walked through the door and she saw he was beaten half to death.

"Oh my God! What happened?!"

She was up and by his side in a matter of seconds. She reached out to touch the deep bruising on his face but Dean moved away from her outstretched hand and looked down uncomfortably. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"He was mugged," Sam replied, not liking how Dean kept saying he was fine when clearly he wasn't.

Tina's eyes widened. "You were mugged?! When? Last night?"

Dean said nothing, just kept a steady gaze at his feet. Sam frowned. He didn't understand why Dean was so reluctant to talk about what happened.

"Day before yesterday," he told Tina. "After you dropped him off."

At that Dean finally looked up from the floor, but it was only to shoot Sam an angry look. Sam returned it before turning to Tina again, awaiting her reaction.

Tina didn't say anything. She looked from Sam and then to Dean, who had returned to staring at his feet, and then she grabbed Dean by the arm.

"C'mon," she said softly, "let's get you warm."

Dean didn't resist as she pulled him to the couch and asked him to sit down. He sat down gingerly with a slight wince that didn't escape Sam's watchful eye.

Tina went into her bedroom and soon returned with two blankets and a pillow. She sat down beside Dean and gently wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders. Dean shivered even more now that his freezing body was offered the added warmth.

Tina wrapped the other blanket over the first and propped the pillow behind Dean's back.

"How long have you been out in the cold?" she asked him.

Dean shrugged through a deep shiver. "I don't know."

Tina rubbed her hands over his shoulders vigorously to help him warm up. "Sam, get some tea."

Sam nodded and walked over to the small pantry that was Tina's kitchen. The teapot was still on the hot plate and he only had to get a cup from the cupboard and pour it up.

While Sam went to get tea Tina tried to get Dean to let her examine his face.

"Let me have a look at that."

"Why?" He turned his head away when she reached out to touch his cheek. He still wouldn't let her touch him.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look her in the eyes. "Because it looks really bad, okay? I won't hurt you, I promise."

He didn't look very convinced and she didn't blame him. With bruises like that even the smallest and gentlest of touches would hurt. "My mom is a nurse," she told him, "so I know a little about this. I'll be careful."

He eyed her suspiciously but let her lean in to have a look. He flinched when her warm, slender fingers brushed against his sore cheek but relaxed a little when the pain didn't get worse. She let her fingers run smoothly across the side of his face, not hurting him, just assessing the damage; checking the colours of the bruise, feeling the swelling to try and determine how bad it was and if there was any additional oedema to worry about. The bruise was huge, even reaching as far back as his right ear, and that worried her more than the swelling did. She leaned in to have a closer look. Dean didn't notice. His eyes were on his hands in his lap and he was frowning a little, seeming to be in deep thought. Tina could see dried blood in the auditory meatus and a sudden feeling of discomfort came over her.

"Rick?" she whispered in his ear. There was no reaction from the boy and she felt a chill run down her spine. She snapped her fingers, right by his ear but there was still no reaction.

"Rick," she spoke louder this time. Her voice broke him from his reverie and he looked at her confused.

"What?"

"How's your ear?"

He hesitated shortly before answering; "It's fine." She shook her head at him.

"No, it's not. You can't hear anything on that ear, can you?"

He seemed surprised that she had noticed but didn't try to deny it this time. He shook his head. "No." He saw her immediate look of concern and shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like it when people pitied him.

"Rick what happened? Were you hit in the ear?" She was speaking much louder now that she knew he could only hear on one ear.

He nodded slowly and looked away. At the same time Sam came through the doorway with a cup in his hand that had the word 'Teatanic' printed on it.

"Here," he said and put it down on the coffee table in front of Dean. Dean picked it up and took a small sip.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes meeting Sam's shortly before looking away again.

"Rick…" Tina squeezed Dean's shoulder lightly to get his attention. "Were you bleeding a lot from your ear?"

Dean glanced nervously at Sam before shaking his head. "No."

Tina let out a soft exhale. She was no doctor, but she was pretty sure the strike to his ear had busted the eardrum and if she was right it was good news because a busted eardrum usually healed by itself. Rick would get his hearing back. That was, if she'd diagnosed him correctly.

Sam scratched his butt with a bothered expression and stole a quick glance at Dean. "How's your leg? You were limping pretty bad." he said. He didn't know what else to say.

His question set off another examination where Tina more or less had to force Dean to pull down his pants so she could have a look at his leg. That's when she discovered the deep bruising over his hip bone.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_For yesterday I hold no apologies, for tomorrow I hold no answers, today is a gift and I will honour it by fully living in it." -- Mary Anne Radmacher-Hershey_

Today was a good day – a really good day. He was genuinely happy for the first time in ten years and he wasn't used to that feeling of pure joy. It was a weird feeling but nice – felt right - and it was making him giddy.

John met his own gaze in the rear-view mirror and flashed a smile. Dark eyes lit up as dimples grew deeper and he inhaled with a happy sigh. He rolled down the window and let the fresh, crisp air bite at his cheeks, leaving a flush and a tingly sensation with every gust.

He wasn't really the Sound of Music kind of guy who'd just as easily burst into song as into laughter, but today he had to bite his tongue not to wail out, slightly off-key, as the music blared from the car stereo.

'_She takes you down easy  
Going down to her knees  
Going down to the devil  
Down down to ninety degrees'_

Drumming his fingers on the wheel as the music continued, he mouthed the lyrics and let out sounds every now and again that could've actually passed as tones.

'_She got the power of union  
Yeah, she only hits when it's hot  
And if she likes what you're doing  
Yeah, she'll give you a lot'_

Little did he know that once he'd found his sons there wouldn't be much to sing for.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

Dean hated being doted on so it was with great relief he watched Tina pack her stuff and take off about an hour later. He got to his feet with a painful, but oh so happy, groan. Tina had refused to let him leave the couch and he was sick of sitting, and lying for that matter.

Sam muted the television and looked at him quizzically. "What are you doing?"

Dean limped across the floor and turned off the TV. "Well, for starters I'm turning off this shit so we can talk. Then I'm going home."

"But Tina told you to rest--"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. He was getting more and more convinced they were brothers because there was no way Sam could've annoyed him so much if they weren't.

"I don't care what Tina said," he interrupted him. "Did you talk to her yesterday? Find out what your last name was before you were adopted?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I'll ask her when she gets back. But I don't think she knows."

Dean limped slowly towards the door. "Winchester," he said over his shoulder, "My last name was Winchester. See what yours was."

Sam got up to follow him. "Wait. I'll call you a cab."

"I don't need a cab, Sam." Truth was he couldn't afford one.

Sam ignored his dismissive tone and went to get some money out of a drawer. "Here, take this," he told Dean, "I'll call you a cab."

Dean didn't want to accept the money at first but when Sam threatened to walk home with him he relented and stuffed the bills in his pocket with a growl. Sam handed him a sweatshirt. "You can borrow this." Dean accepted it with a small 'thank you' and smiled to him. For a really annoying kid Sam actually wasn't that bad.

**TBC**

**Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JENSEN ACKLES!

This chapter is mainly about Dean - it is Jensen's birthday after all. (Hope you guys don't mind.) ;) There'll be more about Tina and Sam in chapter eleven.

I use two German words in this chapter. Here's the translation: 'verstanden' means understood and 'gut' means good.

Thanks to those who have reviewed anonymously. Unfortunately it's not possible to reply to those of you who haven't given your email address so I can't thank you personally. But I want to let you know that I'm most grateful for all your comments!

Oh, and let me know how I'm doing with this. **Review!**

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER TEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

_"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow." -- William Shakespeare_

Sam was still on her couch watching TV when Tina got home. He'd obviously been waiting for her. She took off her coat and grabbed a hanger from the clothes rack and did a double take. The hangers were all assorted by colour - Sam's doing for sure. Obsessive-compulsive much, Tina thought fondly and smirked. She hung her coat over the green hanger she was holding and hung it between the black and red hangers.

"Sam what are you still doing here? And why are my coat hangers assorted by colour?" The last question was said in a joking tone as she entered the living room.

Sam turned to her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "I have to tell you something," he said softly, "And you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Sam is something wrong?" she asked, instantly concerned. She sat down next to him; a pair of blue eyes searching his brown for any sign of distress. Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"Promise you won't tell anyone," he repeated.

Tina didn't like to make promises like that when she had no idea how she'd react. But this was Sam and when Sam, who usually told her everything, was suddenly hesitant to tell her something it was very unnerving.

Worry gripping her heart, she nodded slowly.

"Okay, I promise."

Sam's eyes dropped to his fingers drawing circles on the cushion he was half sitting on and his voice wavered a little as he began to speak; "You know Rick?"

Tina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah?…" _What about him?_

Sam twirled the tassels on the cushion and then looked at her. "He thinks we're brothers."

_What?! _"Come again?"

"Tina, Rick was also adopted. He told me he had a younger brother whose name was Samuel who was born the same year as me. He asked me if I had a birthmark under my foot because his brother had it." Sam was talking fast, words stumbling. He didn't have to explain about the birthmark because Tina knew it was there. "And I have an older brother. Mom told me once."

Tina didn't know what to say. But random coincidence came to mind.

"Sam, look, Rick--"

"Dean." Sam corrected her.

"What?"

"His real name is Dean."

Tina shot him a weird look. "Uh, okay, Dean then. Dean might have had a brother called Samuel but just because you were also adopted doesn't mean it's you."

"But--"

She held up a hand in indication that she wasn't finished.

"…I know that you think the birthmark proves it all. But it doesn't. It's just happenstance. Many people have birthmarks in weird places. I'm sure you're not the only Samuel who has a birthmark on the sole of your foot."

Tina hated to burst his bubble like that but she didn't want him to get his hopes up either. Sam had always wondered about his biological family. He'd asked her and his parents on several occasions where he came from, who his real family was and why he'd been adopted. She knew he was just trying to find his place in the world. He deserved answers. But unfortunately she had none to offer. As far as his past was concerned she'd also been kept in the dark.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_The only way around is through." -- Robert Frost_

He entered the house with slow, heavy steps. Sundays were usually good days. He'd work for five hours at the auto shop, earn some much needed cash and, best of all, get some hours away from the house and Reinhold and Marcus. But today was no such day. The second he'd set foot inside the auto shop Bill had been on him, all concerned and worried and wanting to drive him to the hospital. Dean had politely declined, saying he was fine and that it wasn't as bas as it looked. Bill, like everyone else, had seriously doubted that but he was a good guy, he didn't push. But, he had refused to let Dean stay at the shop and had told him to go home to rest and heal up. So here he was. Back at the House of Horrible – and way too early for a Sunday.

"Ulrich is that you?!" It was his foster mom Martha who called.

Dean cringed, he wasn't sure he could take another confrontation. "Yeah, it's me!"

He walked through the hall and paused by the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe as he watched Martha prepare lunch. She cut up some bread, stirred something in the pot on the stove and then turned to look at him.

"Your father was angry with you this morning," she stated. She knew Dean knew why.

He shifted positions awkwardly - it was becoming harder and harder to keep upright. His knees were slowly giving in to his weight and were beginning to buckle underneath him.

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his legs and leaned heavier on the doorpost. The sudden weakness in his limbs didn't alarm him. He just figured an eight hour walk could do that to your body. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She walked up to him and grabbed him by the arm. She was holding on mighty tight - as if she wanted to hurt him. "Ulrich…" Her voice trailed off as she sighed softly…sadly. "Haven't you had enough already? Did you really have to anger him further?"

Dean looked at her surprised and could not find the words to reply. She had never shown him any concern before. Never. So why now?

"Uh…," he stammered as her fingers clawed into his arm. She glared at him before releasing him with a small push.

"Sit down," she said gently, "Your father wants to have a talk with you."

Dean resisted the urge to snort in her face. Talk? Sure, if by talk she meant with the fists, maybe he'd believe it. But he didn't open his mouth. He wasn't stupid. She was right. There was no reason to anger the monster further. So he made his way to kitchen table, biting hard into his lip to take his mind off the pain in his legs, and sat down with a slight wince.

She remained at the door and called out for Reinhold. Dean's left ear caught the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall and then he heard the heavy steps of his foster dad. He swallowed hard.

Martha turned to him, eyes pausing at his battered face, before looking away. Dean watched as she more or less tip-toed back to the stove to cook their meal and realized that she too was afraid of Reinhold. Afraid of him. Or afraid of what he might do.

Dean's eyes darted to the tablecloth when Reinhold entered the kitchen. Eyes downcast was an effective way of showing submission – less manifestations of defiance, less of a fight, less of a punishment. He waited for a slap or a hair pull but instead Reinhold sat down across from him and rested his large hands on the table in front of him.

"Look at me."

Dean shifted his gaze and looked up at the man slowly. Reinhold was calm when he continued to speak.

"You've been with us for ten years now."

Dean nodded, not sure what the man was getting at. Reinhold leaned forward, his face edging closer and closer to Dean's until Dean could feel the man's small puffs of air on his face. He fought the instinct to flinch back.

"A person from the Child Protective Services will visit us in a couple of days," Reinhold told him. Dean relaxed visibly and waited for the man to continue. "If they start asking questions…"

"I know," Dean replied quickly. And he knew alright. _We're like the Bradys and I was just mugged._ Remarkably enough, the CPS assholes bought it every time.

Reinhold seemed contempt with the answer and nodded appreciatively. "You don't speak unless you're asked a direct question. Verstanden?"

"Verstanden."

"Gut."

-----

Dean decided to go to bed after lunch. He was beat – in more ways than one. He excused himself from the table and hurried towards his room. His legs were shaking so bad he almost didn't make it. He slumped down on his bed with a sigh of relief and stretched out. His eyelids slipped closed and before he knew it he was asleep.

-----

_Silence. Darkness. His head was throbbing and his ear hurt. He moved a sluggish hand to feel his right ear but a clink of metal stopped him. He realized his arms and legs were shackled to the floor and gasped. He pulled at the chains in panic and then laughter broke the silence. He tensed and looked around fearfully. Nothing. No-one. He was alone. Something was running out of his ear in a steady stream. His fingers touched his ear that was wet and sticky. He brought his hand to his face to stare at the blood in amazement. Blood continued to run from his ear at an alarming speed. He was beginning to feel faint. The blood continued to flow freely down his neck, his shoulder and down his arm and incredulous he stared as a puddle of blood formed on the floor by his hand. He wondered if it was even possible to bleed that much from your ear. It felt like all the blood in his body was running out of his ear and collecting in that puddle beside him. He slapped his hand over his ear to stop the blood flow but the blood continued to pump out of his ear in a steady rhythm, running between his fingers. Then something slammed into him with the force of a full speed train. He screamed…_

-----

He woke up with a scream of agony to find himself on the floor by his bed. He sat up and moved his hand to his ear tentatively to check for blood. There was none and he risked a deep breath to calm himself. The pain was instant and he winced. _Why does it hurt so much to breathe?_

He stood up slowly with the support of the bed, only to slump down on it when his legs suddenly gave way beneath him. Completely exhausted, he curled up and closed his eyes.

"Hey, man."

Dean opened his eyes at the sound of his friend's voice. _Kyle? Crap._ He didn't want him here. He was tired of having to explain his bruises to people and sick of having to lie to his friends. He turned his back to the door and crept under the covers.

"What are you doing here Kyle?"

He heard Kyle snort. "What am I doing here? What the fuck do you think I'm doing here?! I've been trying to reach you for two days, man! I was at the auto shop today and Bill told me he'd sent you home. So I call here, **again**, like ten minutes ago, and your mom tells me you're not home. Why haven't you hit me back? Didn't she tell you I called?"

Dean heard Kyle cross the room and tensed. Kyle's steps were determined – him finding out was inevitable now. He struggled to sit up and turned to his friend with a blank expression. Kyle did a double take and then froze, his eyes widening.

"Shit…IN A HUGE PILE! Dude, you look like you were just hit by a train. You okay?"

Dean snorted at that. _Feels like it too, buddy._ "Yeah, I'm alright. I, um, was--"

Kyle held up his hand in a gesture for him to stop talking. "You don't have to tell me, man."

Relief washing over him, Dean smiled gratefully. "Okay."

Kyle leaned against the wall with a soft smile. "Looks like you're gonna be staying in bed for a couple of days. You wanna borrow my Nintendo 64?"

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"Sam, I'm not so sure this will work."

"Of course it will." Sam pushed Tina up one more step. They were ascending the grand staircase to the upper floor of the small castle that was his parents' house. Tina was hesitating on every step but Sam kept pushing her slowly but resolutely upwards. "You just have to distract my dad long enough for me to go through his files."

Tina clung desperately to the banister. "I could get fired over this. And we don't even know if they have your birth certificate."

"Yes, they do," he grunted as he tried to pry her hands away from the banister. "It was an open adoption and they probably needed my birth certificate when they changed my last name." He pushed Tina up the remaining steps and looked at her with sad puppy eyes. "Please."

She groaned. "Okay…" Sam squealed with joy and gave her a bone-crushing hug. Tina returned the hug. "But I swear to God, if you use that wounded puppy look on me again..." she warned.

"I won't."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

He hung up the phone and rubbed a trembling hand over his face. He'd been right. Sam had just called him and verified that he had in fact been Samuel Winchester before being adopted, and in his birth certificate were also the names of his biological parents John and Mary Winchester. John and Mary…the names that still lingered on his mind and haunted him in his dreams. So it was true. Sam really was his brother. _Sammy._

His legs shook violently under him and leaning against the wall he slid down to the floor quickly. _Sammy, I can't believe I found you. _He broke into hysterical laughter suddenly. It was the kind of laugh that sounded like crying and he laughed until tears ran in streaks down his bruised face. Then the hysterical laughter morphed into silent, helpless sobs as he shrunk in on himself, hugging his legs tightly.

-----

_Marcus sneered at him as he lay on his back, trying desperately not to choke on his own vomit, his eyes tearing up at the effort._

"_Turn him over." It was Hank. _

_Dean was pulled to the side by rough hands. He gurgled weakly and reached to remove the cloth from his mouth so he could breathe. But someone grabbed his hand and twisted his arm behind his back. He cried out. Panicking. _

-----

His eyes shot open and he realized he was panting heavily. It hurt his lungs and he coughed helplessly. _Another nightmare._ He couldn't sleep without having one anymore. He got out of bed with much effort and then pulled on Sam's sweater over the t-shirt he was wearing. There was just no way he was going back to sleep. He'd go for another walk.

He ignored the dizziness and his shaking legs and walked out through the front door. The night was cold and his breath came out in little puffs of white air. He crossed the lawn and stopped by the nearest street lamp. He felt funny, weird, like removed from his body or something. His eyes trailed upwards and he stared straight into the light. Little dots the colour of the rainbow danced before his eyes and he watched them, mesmerized by their beauty. Then, just like that, everything went black and he fell headlong to the hard asphalt. He was unconscious before he hit ground.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_Other things may change us, but we s__tart and end with the family." -- Anthony Brandt _

John stopped the car across the street from the yellow shack of a house and peered through the window. The house was dark - the Schmidt family probably all asleep by now. He studied each window carefully, trying to guess which was the window to Dean's room. He wondered what Dean looked like. He'd always looked like Mary. Did he still? Did he still have her smile? Was his hair still light like hers? Were his eyes still as expressive as hers?

He was broken from his reverie by a door slamming shut. His gaze fell upon a teenager walking down the front steps of the yellow house. His heart skipped a beat. That could be Dean, he realized. Maybe it is him. He rolled down the window and leant out to have a closer look at the boy but it was too dark to make anything out.

He watched the boy cross the lawn and stop by a street lamp. He looked on in fascination as the boy breathed little puffs of condensation. It was a peaceful sight. The boy looked up slowly and stared straight into the bright light of the street lamp and John followed his gaze breathlessly.

Suddenly there was a loud thud of something hitting ground and John's eyes darted to the boy. The dark silhouette was no longer standing but lying sprawled on the ground. John gasped and fumbled to open the car door. He stumbled out and ran across the street towards the boy. He reached him just as the boy started seizing. He fell to his knees beside the boy and gasped at the sight of his battered face.

"What the…?"

His hands were trembling when he reached to touch the boy's face. It was Dean. There was no question about it. He still looked like Mary, even with his face so badly beaten. John felt the bile rise in his throat and he gagged.

"Dean… Oh, God," he whispered softly, stroking his son's cheek.

White foam was forming at the corner of Dean's mouth and he grimaced. The seizures had stopped but Dean was still unconscious. Without thinking John slid his hands under Dean's shoulders and legs and lifted him carefully. His son weighed practically nothing and it scared the hell out of John. He hurried to the car and gently placed his son in the backseat. Dean was starting to come to, eyes moving under closed eyelids, his breathing becoming more even. He moaned softly. John stroked his hair soothingly and kissed him on the forehead.

"Sssh, it's okay, Dean. I'm taking you to the hospital. You're gonna be alright." He fetched a blanket from the trunk and put it over Dean's shivering body. "You're gonna be alright, son."

Seven minutes later they were at the hospital.

John carried a half conscious Dean into the ER, screaming for someone to help them. After seeing Dean's battered and broken body, he was quickly put on a gurney by medical staff and whisked away from John.

John stared after them in shock; at a loss for words and at a loss for what to do. A nurse walked up to him and asked him for the patient's name and if he knew whether the boy was allergic to any medicines. John hesitated, not sure which name to give her, but then quickly decided to go with the name Dean's foster parents had given him. After all, Dean was theirs for now and the CPS' visit was still to come.

"Ulrich," he told the nurse softly, "Ulrich Schmidt."

"Are you family?"

He shook his head slowly, and his heart broke at the lie. "Neighbour," he forced out. The nurse scribbled down Dean's name on the paper she was holding and turned to look at John again.

"So you don't know if he's allergic to anything?"

He shook his head again, and it was the truth this time. He didn't know anymore what his sons were allergic to, what their favorite food was or what their hobbies were. He didn't know his sons. Not anymore.

The nurse nodded slowly and then turned to leave. John grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss. When can I see him?"

She raised an eyebrow and shot him a weird look. "You can't, sir. Only family allowed." She brushed her hair away from her eyes. "The doctor has some questions. He will be with you shortly."

**TBC** (Dean's secret is revealed. But who find(s) out?)

**Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update. I've been busy with life, which means busy with school. (I have another statistics exam this Saturday.)

As you will notice, there's not much of Sam and Tina in this chapter either. It just kinda turned out that way because there was so much Dean stuff to deal with and I wanted it all in this chapter…

Btw, the entire Dean section is a dream sequence (no violence or gore so everyone can read it). However, I'm shooting up a warning flare for the italics in the first John section.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future." -- Alex Haley_

Sam woke up to a new day and for the first time in many years 'new' didn't scare him.

Everything was different now that he had his brother; a link to his early years, someone who could fill in the blanks for him, someone who was his own flesh and blood. He'd never realized just how lonely he'd been until all of a sudden he wasn't anymore. Sure, Tina had been there for him but it wasn't the same. Plus, she was a girl.

He'd thought a lot about things after he'd hung up with his brother the night before. Dean's situation at home bothered him and he hoped that now that they had found each other that Dean could move in with his family. They could share his room. It was a large room - almost as big as Dean's parents' house, and hopefully Dean wouldn't mind sharing it with him.

He gave a happy sigh, tossed the covers aside and went into his private bathroom. His eyes met those of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and he stopped shortly to flash it a lopsided, dimpled grin before going over to the toilet to take care of business.

He just knew that from now on everything would be all right.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_We are all of us failures, at least, the best of us are." -- James M. Barrie_

He stayed. And when the doctor came to ask him questions, he hid behind a mask of indifference. He was determined to break any connection between his heart and the rest of his body. He had to, or all the worry, all the pain and his every paternal instinct would render him helpless, paralyzed and unable to think rationally. He'd been shut out – again. He'd been told that he had no business asking about the boy - _his son_ - and that he shouldn't bother with things that did not concern him. They didn't know who he was or his relation with their young patient. It didn't matter. They were just another obstacle and he was used to obstacles by now.

When the doctor asked him what had happened his answers were, for his cause and for Dean's, detailed but detached. The physician hadn't seemed particularly alarmed by what he'd told him so John was fairly certain Dean's condition wasn't critical. But knowing that didn't bring him much relief or any peace for that matter. Dean was badly hurt and John couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong. And he was determined to find out what it was. He decided to wait until afternoon before taking action.

-----

Sneaking into the dressing rooms to obtain the white scrubs he was now wearing had been easy. Moving stealthily through the hospital wasn't. He was approached several times by elderly people who took him for a doctor and wanted to know about this or that relative with this or that condition on this or that ward. 'I'm just an orderly' quickly became his favourite excuse and rescue as he made his way towards the nurses station.

The place was empty, save for a young nurse who was talking on the phone, seemingly engaged in a most personal conversation. She didn't take any notice to him as he slipped behind the counter and started to go through the pile of medical records that rested there. He was in luck, the medical chart of patient 'Ulrich Schmidt' was in the top of the pile. His son's medical record was a thin folder and John didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign. He risked a glance at the nurse. She had turned in her swivel chair and was now sitting with her back to him. He released a breath of relief and slid the folder in his waistband. He'd return it before her phone call ended.

-----

His heart was beating rapidly as he made his way towards the bathrooms at the end of the hall. It didn't slow down until he'd locked the door behind him in the booth farthest from the door. He closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. His hands started shaking as he opened the folder slowly and rested his eyes on the most recent notes in Dean's medical chart.

_Grand mal seizure._

His eyes didn't linger on the words for long. He'd been there after all. Seen it with his own two eyes. It was the 'no previously known epilepsy' that caught his attention.

…_fractured ribs._

He'd figured as much with the state his son had been in. Not even the number of fractured ribs held his attention for more than a couple of seconds.

…_intercostales externi severely bruised_

He didn't know what that meant but it didn't sound very comforting put in the context of 'patient's ventilation'. He reminded himself that Dean was safe now. No matter how his breathing had been affected by his bruised 'intercostales externi', he was at the hospital now and they could help him.

…_fracture in intermediate phalanges on right digitus anularis_

He sighed heavily and cursed doctors' constant use of Latin terms. _Whatever happened to plain ol' English?_ He made a mental note to look up the Latin words later.

He wasn't surprised to read _…contusions…_ and _…hematoma…_ He'd seen Dean's face and knew what a beating did to a person's skin tissue and muscles.

_Perforated tympanic membrane._

John cringed. That he did understand. It meant Dean's eardrum had been perforated or ruptured. It had happened to John once and had resulted in a three week hearing loss on his left ear. He could still remember how painful it had been when the eardrum had ruptured.

The words that followed made his breath catch painfully in his throat and an instant nausea flared up as shock took hold. He reread the words and couldn't believe it. He read them again and felt the bile rise in his throat. He tried to swallow against it but with his head spinning and his stomach churning he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He dropped the folder and whirled around. He barely managed to lift the toilet lid before he threw up violently.

The words _sexual assault, tears_ and _rectum_ whirled around in his mind as he retched helplessly. He felt weak in the knees and leaned heavily on the water closet as he threw up another time. Tears welled in his eyes and he wasn't sure if it was because of the overwhelming pain or the exhaustion of the violent retching. His eyes dropped to the floor where the folder lay, mocking him with its presence; telling him what a bad father he was, how he'd failed his sons.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it." -- Audrey Hepburn_

-----

_Dean watched in fascination as his father loaded the silver bullets into his Colt Python .357 Magnum revolver. Dean had held the same revolver in his hand a couple of days before when he'd practised how to load and fire a gun. The bullets then had been blanks but these were real bullets._

"_Will it kill him?" he asked John tentatively, afraid to disturb his father._

"_**It**, Dean," his father corrected and looked up at him. "And yeah, silver bullet to the heart will kill it." _

_Dean nodded slowly. He was still learning and wasn't all that familiar with the things his father hunted or the effective ways of killing them. He wanted to help and dreamed of the day his father would trust him with a weapon and take him on a hunt. With the things he knew were out there, Dean rarely felt safe anymore and was therefore determined to learn everything he could in order to protect himself and Sammy._

_He felt a tug at his arm and looked down to see his younger brother standing beside him. Sam had removed his pants and was shifting restlessly, legs crossed, with an urgent look in his eyes. _

"_I have to go potty." _

_That John could have helped Sam to the bathroom didn't occur to any of the boys. Dean always took care of Sammy. It was his job and something he took great pride in doing. And Sam, just like any other child, went to the person he could count on to help him, no matter the problem._

_Without a word, Dean took Sam by the hand and led him to the small bathroom. The three year old had his arms around him as Dean pulled down his briefs and helped him onto the toilet. When he let go of him, Sam reached out and gripped the edge of the water basin to keep from falling off. Dean turned around – his brother didn't like an audience – and waited for Sam to finish._

"_Doesn't like it here," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, "…e'rything dirty." _

_Dean couldn't agree more. It was their fourth day in that filthy, sorry excuse for a motel, in a town which name he couldn't remember. Their dad had been hunting day and night since their arrival and had only come by to drop off food and get a couple of hours of sleep in. Dean and Sam had been strictly forbidden to leave the motel room and had spent the four days watching TV and reading the same books over and over again. It was starting to get old and Dean wasn't sure how much longer Sam would accept this kind of living._

"_I know," he said and turned around to face his brother, "but we have to stay until dad has finished this job." Not that Sam knew what 'this job' was but he knew, with a three-year-old's somewhat fuzzy sense of certainty, that when his dad was on a job it was important that he finished it. He nodded in understanding._

_That night John went out to finish the shapeshifter. _

_-----_

_Dean was awakened by a loud knock at the door and looked around blearily. The first thing he noticed in his drowsy state was that their dad's bed was empty. He glanced at his watch and was surprised at how late it was. 12:40. There was another knock at the door and a man shouted; _

"_Mr Mahogoff!"_

_Dean recognized the voice of the motel manager and froze when he remembered they had only paid for five nights. Checkout was at 12:00 and they would have to leave if they didn't pay for one more night. The problem was he didn't have any money and his dad wasn't back yet. _

"_Mr Mahogoff?!"_

_Scared as hell that the man would come inside, Dean pulled the covers over his head and held his breath. Sammy was still sleeping peacefully by his side. Luckily, it took a lot to wake him up. There was another knock and then silence and Dean relaxed, releasing his breath. But then he heard it; a key being worked into the lock…_

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?!" _

_It was John. _

"_Checkout was forty minutes ago!" The manager sounded just as annoyed as his father. "Either you pay for another night or you get the hell out."_

_Dean listened to his father and the manager arguing and then after a while the door opened and John came inside. His dad looked like hell, Dean mused as he took in John's mud covered clothes that were dark with filth and wet. John seemed to be thinking the same thing because he raked a hand through his sweat slicked hair and brushed off some of the dirt from his jacket. He turned to Dean with a weary expression. "Dean, wake your brother and start packing," he said tiredly, walking heavily towards the bathroom, "I'm taking a shower and then we're leaving."_

_Dean nodded wordlessly and then started to gather his and Sam's things, stuffing them into the duffel bag the two of them shared. Fifteen minutes later they were in the car, pulling out of the motel parking lot. _

_Dean looked back at the motel and shifted in his seat, careful not to wake Sammy who was sleeping with his head resting in Dean's lap. "Did you get it, dad?"_

_His dad looked at him in the rearview mirror, a haunted look in his eyes, his brow furrowing, and it was answer enough._

"_What're you gonna do?"_

_His dad didn't answer and Dean didn't ask again. _

_-----_

_They waited until the sky was darkening before they drove out of town. By then Sam and Dean were so bored they were quickly lulled by the hum of the engine and the peaceful dark around them. John drove in silence, contemplating his next move and going through possible scenarios of the forthcoming hunt in his head. After a while he pulled the car off the road into a wooded area and stopped when they came to a clearing. _

"_I followed it here last night," John said out loud, as if Dean was awake and listening and there was an ongoing conversation between them. Dean, who was a light sleeper, stirred and opened his eyes slowly. _

"_What?"_

"_I'd almost caught it when suddenly the son of a bitch just disappeared."_

_Dean glanced down at his brother to make sure he was still sleeping before he spoke; "The shapeshifter?"_

_John nodded. _

_Dean rubbed at his tired eyes and sat up. "So you think its lair is here…" He looked around to see where 'here' was, "…in these woods?"_

_John nodded again. "I'm sure of it. It certainly knew its way around. And the sudden disappearance…must have hid in its lair."_

_John reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his Colt Python. "I have to finish it," he said, turning his head to look at his oldest son. "Lock the doors after me and don't open for anyone, not even for me - unless I give you the secret password. Okay?"_

_Dean nodded, suddenly wide awake and alert. _

"_And what's the secret password?"_

"_Christo."_

_John smiled and ruffled his hair. "That's my boy."_

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

He watched from afar as a nurse showed a tall, fat man and a petite woman at his side into his son's room. He'd picked up parts of their conversation when the couple arrived but as they passed him in the hallway, two words especially caught his attention; 'Mr Schmidt'.

He ogled the man with indignant scepticism. After all, Dean had gotten hurt in his care. The door closed behind the three and he was once again shut out. He crept up to the door and leaned in, close enough to hear the conversation but not so close as to pressing his ear to it. Their voices were distinct and there was no problem for him to follow the conversation. He heard the nurse tell the Schmidts that Dean was suffering from extreme fatigue and extensive trauma to his 'this' and 'that'. John didn't really listen as she recounted Dean's injuries to his foster parents, he'd already read the detailed descriptions of them in his son's file. He did however raise an eyebrow in surprise when the nurse said Dean had been sedated.

"The seizure he had was his body's way of telling him to slow down, to rest," the nurse explained. "With the state he was in and with him fighting sleep, Dr Feldman felt it necessary to sedate him to give his body time to heal."

The conversation carried on without John listening in because two cops were heading that way and he had taken a quick guess at why they were there and had hastily retreated from his place by the door.

He was hiding when the cops walked by and went into his son's room. And he stayed hidden when they stepped out five minutes later with Mr and Mrs Schmidt in tow, the four of them engaged in friendly conversation.

He made his move as soon as the nurse had left and slipped inside.

Dean looked far from peaceful in his bed. John watched helplessly as he moaned and stirred restlessly in his sleep; instantly reminded of the months after Mary's death when his then four-year-old son had been plagued with nightmares. Dean had looked the same then as he did now; pale, agitated and stirring restlessly in his sleep. Only now there were bruises standing out against his deathly pallor and not the fine dark hair of his baby brother lying next to him.

He approached his oldest son with utmost caution as if afraid he might wake him and sat down on a chair by the bed. As would be expected Dean did not acknowledge his father's presence - too deep in sleep to notice anything at all. Yet when John reached out and touched his cheek lightly, he quieted and leaned into the touch like a flower reaching towards sunlight.

-----

He didn't want to leave but had to eventually. He changed back into his own clothes without being detected and made his way outside and walked up to his car. He stopped at the sound of a familiar voice and turned. He recognized Dean's foster father immediately. Mr Schmidt was standing two cars away, leaning on a red Volvo and talking in a hushed voice to someone on a cell phone. John rounded the Impala to get closer, pretending to get something from the backseat, all the while straining to hear what the man was whispering about. Luckily, John had a good set of ears.

"What the hell were you thinking," the man said in a hushed tone. "There's a difference between disciplining a child and just plain beating him."

John froze - any thought of covering his eavesdropping forgotten at the man's last words. The man was as silent as John as he listened to the person he was on the phone with.

"Sexual assault, Marcus!" he spoke accusingly, his voice rising slightly and then lowering as he continued, "They notified the damn authorities. Martha's scared to death they'll take him from her."

He grunted when the one he was talking to commented on something and opened the door to get in the driver's seat. "I don't care how or why it happened…--"

The sentence was cut short by the slamming of the door as he got in the car. John watched, eyes narrowing, as the red Volvo pulled out of the parking lot and drove off. He'd heard it all.

**TBC**

**Please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: OMG! Did you guys see 'Heart' last Thursday?! The last scenes of the episode blew me away! Those guys are awesome actors! It was definitely one of my favourite episodes of season two so far. Just wow!

---

Btw, I am so sorry for the late update! I've been really busy with school, writing the essay for my bachelor degree etc etc. It's gonna be pretty crazy for the rest of the semester but I'm gonna work my butt off to get you the last couple of chapters. I'm not gonna drop this story and I promise I will try to update as often as humanly possible.

Thank you everyone for your reviews! I appreciate all your thoughts and comments.

- Kel

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Out of the night that covers me_

_Black as the Pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance,_

_I have not winced nor cried aloud:_

_Under the bludgeonings of chance_

_My head is bloody, but unbowed." -- W.E. Henley, 'Echoes' _

He slipped out of unconsciousness, mumbling about shapeshifters and werewolves and other unearthly creatures, and the doctor was called immediately. A penlight was flashing in his eyes before he was even coherent and he moaned in discomfort, squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head the other way.

"Take it easy," someone soothed, "You're okay."

It was a voice Dean could not recognize, and his heart quickened instantly.

"Where am I?" It took all of his strength to get those three words out. His mouth was dry as a desert and he was so unbelievably tired it was hard to open his eyes, or even collect his thoughts.

There was a sudden bleep in his ear and he jumped.

"Calm down. I'm just taking your temperature," the formerly soothing, now a little annoyed, voice informed.

'You could've told me that before you stuck that thing into my ear and scared the living bejesus out of me,' Dean wanted to say. But who was he kidding? There was no way in hell he could extract that many words from his brain to form a sentence that long. He sighed inwardly and settled instead for a low growl to express his displeasure.

"Can you state your name for me?"

_Sure…_

A beat

…_if I could remember it._

His silence was unnerving.

"You can't remember your name?" There was that nice, soothing, voice again and Dean wanted to slap whoever that was.

He racked his brain but came up with nothing and was instantly annoyed with himself for it. That kind of question should be an easy one to answer. Realizing grimly that he could probably not answer the pop quiz on himself that he felt coming, he fought his natural instinct to prove himself able and shook his head slowly. _Nope, no remembering here. Could you please enlighten me? _

"That's okay. It's not unusual with temporary memory loss after a grand mal seizure."

Dean still hadn't been informed as to his whereabouts, but with the 'grand something seizure' talk he had a pretty good guess.

"Do tell." He was pleased to have forced out those simple words. Hopefully the person, probably a doctor, would understand what he was after.

"Your name is Ulrich Schmidt."

_Ulrich Schmidt? __What an ugly ass name._

He was in blissful ignorance a couple of more seconds before the name triggered his memory and it all came crashing down. He drew a sharp intake of breath under the sudden (figurative) weight of his life and almost screamed at the sharp pain it brought his lungs. It was as painful a reminder as anything of what had happened. His arm curled around his chest protectively and he was surprised to find he was in hospital scrubs.

His surprise was quickly swapped for fear when he realized what they had probably found out while removing his real clothes. His face flushed and his eyes shot open, his fatigue gone in an instant. He struggled up onto his elbows and made a move to get out of bed. The person, who he could now see was a doctor in his thirties, pushed him down again.

"Whoa. Take it easy."

Dean slapped his hands away, a little surprised at his sudden vigour.

"Stop telling me to take it easy!" His voice was raspy and hoarse but it was there at least.

He tried to sit up again but was pushed down once again by the doctor. This time he pushed back.

"Get the hell away from me! You can't keep me here!" He was yelling. A sure sign of distress.

He pushed at the doctor weakly but the doctor held fast, keeping him down with one hand while he pressed a red button by the bed for assistance. Within a couple of seconds an orderly entered the room. He took one look at Dean struggling against the doctor and then turned in the door.

Dean felt panic rise in his chest as he fought to free himself from the doctor's grasp. They knew. He was sure of it. He couldn't stay there.

A couple of seconds later and the orderly was back, this time with a nurse. Dean didn't acknowledge their presence until the orderly came up to the bed to help the doctor hold him down.

"Ulrich, calm down," the doctor said, seeking eye contact with Dean to get his attention. "You're in no shape to be out of bed yet."

"Let go of me." _Please._

Behind the doctor the nurse aspirated a clear liquid from a vial into a syringe. She made sure there were no bubbles in it before she addressed the doctor and offered it to him. He accepted it and turned back to Dean. Dean stopped fighting them as soon as he saw the syringe and his eyes widened.

"No…"

The doctor looked at him apologetically.

"It's for your own good, Ulrich."

"Don't give me that." Dean's eyes were fixed on the syringe in the doctor's hand. "Please."

The doctor paused momentarily, seeming to consider what to do, before handing the syringe back to the nurse.

"Okay. But only if you stay in this bed…"

"I will," Dean assured him and sank down on the bed to show that he meant it. The doctor nodded slowly and motioned for the other two to leave. The orderly released Dean's wrist and left the room followed by the nurse.

The doctor stayed a few minutes to talk to Dean about his injuries; to ask who and what had inflicted them and to explain what they were. Dean went with the mugging story yet again and threw in an 'I was knocked out immediately' to fend off questions about how he'd obtained certain injuries. He was relieved that the doctor seemed to buy his story and was even more relieved when he left.

He considered sneaking out of the hospital and go home but then decided against it. The doctor was right, he needed to gain his strength and let his body heal up. And, come to think of it, staying at the hospital meant staying away from the house and Reinhold and Marcus, and he couldn't complain about that.

He eased back on the bed and closed his eyes. He was pretty sure that he had dreamt a memory before. In his dream his father had walked up to his bed and had touched his cheek and ran his fingers in his hair while whispering soothing words to him.

He missed his dad. He missed feeling loved and feeling safe. He knew he would probably never see his father again, it had been ten years after all, but he'd found the other third of his family – Sammy - and Sammy meant more than anything to him.

Lying in his bed thinking about his dad and his baby brother a tiny spark of the old Dean flickered to life inside of him. It was the part of the old Dean that didn't take shit from anyone, the fighting part of himself. It was just a tiny spark but it was enough to get Dean thinking about something he hadn't thought about for a long time, namely that of escaping his tormentors. He hadn't believed it possible, not for a long time, but now he thought that maybe, just maybe he could be saved.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_There was a pause – just long enough for an angel to pass, flying slowly." -- Ronald Firbank_

None of them had spoken a word since they got in the car. It was a welcome silence since none of them had anything to say really.

Sam scratched an itch in the crook of his arm and grimaced. He'd found a red, crusty rash on his arm after his morning shower and it was itching like crazy. Tina glanced at him.

"Itchy?"

Sam thought 'Scratchy' and nodded miserably. However, the rash wasn't what was troubling him most right now. He'd called Dean's house about an hour earlier to find out he was in the hospital. Something bad had happened, he just knew it, and he hadn't been there for Dean. He. Hadn't. Been. There. And it was the only thing he could think about as Tina drove through the city, and parked the Mustang in front of the hospital thirty minutes later. He was out of the car in a flash and half ran towards the entrance. Tina cursed behind him and slammed the car door shut quickly to follow him.

"Crap. Sam, wait!"

-----

The nurse showed them to Dean's room and gave Sam an encouraging smile before leaving. Sam paused at the door, suddenly hesitating. He was afraid of what he might see when he entered the room. Dean's foster mom hadn't really been that informative when she'd told him Dean was at the hospital so Sam had no idea what he was in for when he opened that door. His imagination had run wild and he'd made up several scary reasons to why Dean had been hospitalized, each scenario scarier than the other. Dean had been mugged - again, Dean had had a heart attack, Dean was dying of cancer. There was no stopping the thoughts of doom. He should've known. For the first time in a long time he'd felt happy, genuinely happy - and what happens? Of course something horrible had to happen, why was he even surprised?

Tina touched his arm lightly. "C'mon."

She opened the door with a soft "knock, knock" and went inside, dragging Sam with her.

"Dean."

Dean was looking out the window when they entered but quickly turned towards the door at the sound of Tina's voice. His eyes met Sam's just as Sam stepped through the door and there was a flash of surprise in his eyes before a small smile formed on his lips. The split in his bottom lip made the smile look strained, but not any less real.

"Hey." Dean's voice was raspy but it sounded like he was happy to see them. Sam relaxed immediately.

"Hey." Sam felt a sudden need to run up to his brother and hug him but held back. He'd only known his brother a little over a month but knew all too well that Dean didn't like to be cuddled or fussed over. "How are you feeling?"

Tina sat down on a chair at the foot of Dean's bed and Dean looked over at her. "Hi, Tina."

"Hi, Dean," she replied softly and her eyes looked sad when she smiled to him.

Dean's eyes shifted back to Sam. "I'm okay. Just had a little accident."

Sam frowned. "What kind of accident?"

Dean shrugged. "Some kind of seizure…" Sam's breath hitched in his throat and Dean quickly added; "…but I'm fine now. It was only a one time thing."

Sam didn't look very convinced and Dean quickly changed the subject. "So, how did you guys know I was here anyway?"

Sam drew a short breath. "I called your house and your…mom… told me you were here."

"Oh."

It was a reaction Sam didn't know how to interpret. "Why? Uh, was it wrong to call you?"

Dean's eyes darted to Tina and then back to Sam. "No," he chuckled uncomfortably, "of course not."

For some reason Sam did not believe him.

There was short pause before Dean spoke again. "So what did you want?"

"What?"

"You said you called my house… What did you want?"

Sam cast Tina a deliberate look; he didn't want her to hear this. Tina, bless her, knew him well enough to take the hint. She got up to leave. "I need a cup of coffee. I'll be back in a few." Her hand paused at the door knob and she looked back at Sam and Dean with a wicked grin. "Will that be long enough for ya?"

Sam gave her a look like that of a kid annoyed by their awkward parent and rolled his eyes. Tina laughed and closed the door carefully behind her. As soon as Tina was gone Dean threw his arms out in an 'alright-I'm-listening' manner and looked at Sam curiously.

"Okay, man, you got me alone. What did you want to tell me?"

Sam felt stupid. His plan of having Dean move in with his family suddenly didn't feel like such a bright idea. However, it was too late to back down now.

"Uh, I just thought, uh, that now that we know we're brothers…that maybe…um…you could move in with me." He blushed, feeling like a total idiot and averted his eyes from Dean's gaze.

Dean didn't say anything at first. There was an awkward, dead silence between them and Sam wanted nothing but to bolt right out of there. Then Dean spoke and his voice held a relief and a sincerity that shook Sam.

"Actually…" It came out as a raspy whisper and Dean cleared his throat. "I kinda hate this place…" He looked away and chuckled softly, sadly, hesitating shortly before continuing. "…can't live like this anymore…being slapped around all the time…" He looked back at Sam and this time his eyes were pleading. "I'm gonna take off…you know leave this place for good…and I thought maybe you'd like to come with me…"

Sam stared at him, shocked not only by his brother's plans to run away but also by Dean's confession that his foster dad had in fact been hurting him.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_Heaven forbid you end up alone and don't know why  
Hold on tight wait for tomorrow, you'll be alright  
It's on your face, is it on your mind, would you care to build a house of your own.  
How much longer, how long can you wait, it's like you wanted to go and give yourself away." -- The Fray, 'Heaven Forbid'_

He was seething, beyond rage, beyond wanting to hurt the people that had hurt his son so much. He wanted to kill them, make their deaths slow and painful, wanted to do to them what they had done to his boy. But he couldn't. He couldn't do it. Not now. Not before CPS' visit. And not before Dean was out of the hospital and fit to leave with him and Sam.

Just thinking about what those people had done to Dean made him sick and he swallowed against the bile in his throat and turned the key in the ignition. First of all, he had to find somewhere to stay - someplace where he could get organized – and then he was going to find that Marcus guy.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Dean bit his lip as if regretting what he'd just told Sam and looked away. Sam, who quickly recovered from the initial shock, walked up to him and shuffled his foot across the floor awkwardly.

"I'm tired of my life too," he admitted, "My foster parents are okay and all but I'm happier with you."

Dean looked up at him, uncertainty flaring in his eyes but his voice resolute as he spoke. "If you go with me you can never come back." He wanted Sam to understand that if he chose to leave his life and go with him it would be permanently.

"I don't care." And Sam meant it. He had never felt so close to anyone before – not even Tina. Dean treated him fair, was nice to him. Sam didn't feel alone when he was with Dean, he felt like he belonged. "I want to go with you, Dean."

The door opened before Dean had a chance to reply and Tina sauntered inside with two cups of coffee and a look of relief on her face. She took a sip out of one of the Styrofoam cups and made a sound of pleasure. "God, I really needed a caffeine fix." She walked up to them and handed Dean the other cup. "I hear they are pretty thrifty with beverages around here. Thought you might want something decent to drink besides water and IV fluids."

Dean accepted the coffee with a smile. "Thanks, Tina."

"Don't mention it." She ruffled Dean's hair affectionately and then Sam's before wrapping an arm around his lanky frame. "We have to go, Sammy boy, or your mom's gonna think we eloped or something." She chuckled at the bad joke and turned to leave.

Sam and Dean shared a knowing look.

"I'll call you later, Sammy," Dean said. His voice was still hoarse and raspy, but this time it held a tinge of hope.

**TBC**

**Please Review!**


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Happy Easter to all of you!

Here's finally chapter 13! Sorry it took so long. From now on every chapter will be more or less action-packed (maybe not the guns a-blazing kind but I can assure you a lot of stuff's gonna happen). Hope you'll stick around for that.

A huge thank you to Nana for the research she did for me. I didn't use it here but it might be in another chapter. Anyway, thanks Nana for taking time out to help me!

Please read and post your feedback!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_**Three days later...**_

**SAM**

"_Having a place to go - is a home. Having someone to love - is a family. Having both - is a blessing." -- Donna Hedges_

Sam glanced furtively at Dean who was sitting by his desk on a black padded swivel chair. The bruising on Dean's face had faded some but the collage of the now purple, green and brown bruises still looked awfully painful. He could see Dean's lips moving but, too absorbed in thought, he wasn't hearing a word of what he was saying.

It was Friday and Dean had been released from the hospital the day before. Good thing too, Dean had told Sam sarcastically, because today was the day the CPS was going to visit.

"Hey! I'm talking here."

Dean's voice broke Sam out of his reverie. "Sorry. What?"

Dean groaned softly. "I was just saying I've got about $700 saved up but that we'll probably need more. Have you got any cash?"

Sam shook his head and then hesitated. His answer wasn't one Dean was gonna love. Still, it was the truth and there wasn't much he could do about it – spoilt brat or not.

"No. I usually just tell them what I want and they get it for me. I haven't really had to carry around any cash, you know?"

Dean gave him a small, somewhat sad smile and looked away. "Right."

Feeling bad for having had such an apple pie life when clearly Dean had been through hell, Sam wanted to make up for it somehow. "I might be able to get us a couple of hundred." He twisted his hands in his lap and looked at Dean eagerly. "How much more do we need?"

Dean looked back at him and shrugged. "I dunno. $300 maybe, just to be safe," he replied, then frowned and paused, "But we could do with $700. It shouldn't be a problem. Don't feel like you have to…"

"It's not a problem," Sam said, cutting Dean off. "I can get us $300." Or at least he hoped so.

"OK. Great," Dean said and smiled again. Sam returned it, happy that _he_ had brought this warm, genuine smile to his brother's face. "I think I can score a car from the auto shop," Dean continued. "You know, it won't be a Jag or anything," he grinned teasingly at Sam, "but it'll run."

Sam rolled his eyes at the jab. "As long as it can take me out of this place I'm happy," he said sourly. He hated being teased about his parents' riches. It wasn't his fault he'd been placed in a wealthy family. "By the way, where are we going? We can't just leave without having somewhere to go."

Dean shrugged. Apparently, the getting away part of the plan had been a little more important to him than the question of where they should lead this new, happily-ever-after life of theirs. He gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll think of something, okay?"

There was a knock at the door before it swung open and Dean's foster mom Martha stepped into the room. She smiled apologetically to Sam.

"I'm sorry but the CPS official is coming soon…Ulrich needs to get ready."

On cue, Sam got up and grabbed his backpack off the floor. He didn't even bother to get annoyed or worried by Mrs Schmidt's suddenly polite manner towards him – Dean would be outta this place soon anyway. He stepped out of the room wordlessly and turned back to Dean. Dean looked about as comfortable - or uncomfortable - as Sam felt but he was doing his best not to show it.

"See you at practise later?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Sure." He didn't sound so sure though.

Sam offered a curt nod in Martha's direction before leaving. Walking out of the house, all he could think about, apart from her eyes burning into his back, was the feeling that he had just fed the lamb to the lions. He had to force himself not to run back inside and get Dean.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles." -- Christopher Reeve _

The door closed behind the CPS woman with a scary finality and Dean felt the air around him grow thicker again, making it hard for him to breathe. This wasn't the first time a CPS official had visited the family and so he wasn't surprised by the distinct change of atmosphere in the house – from hostile to friendly - in front of strangers, and then back to hostile again. It had been nice with a little breather though. He exhaled slowly and tugged at his tie, silently amazed at how good manners and dressing up could fool so many so utterly. Suit and tie, good manners, or any image of an ideal functioning family, should really be what alarmed those people. There was no such thing as a happy family and CPS, if anyone, should know that. He pulled the tie over his head and went into the kitchen to help Martha with the dishes.

"Is she gone?"

He threw the tie over the back of a chair and nodded wordlessly as he rolled up his sleeves. Martha picked up the last plate from the table and put it on the kitchen sink for Dean to wash.

"Good. Clean up in here, will you?" Martha took off her cardigan with a soft, tired sigh and shuffled towards the doorway.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied, but Martha was already gone.

Dean worked fast, wanting to get to soccer practise in time. The dishes clattered against each other as he swept the dish brush over them sloppily. He left the water running so as not to have to turn on the faucet for every rinse. Rinse. Dry. Rinse. Dry. Rinse. Dry. It was a routine of his and he could work up a pretty good speed. He put the clean plates back in the cupboard over the sink and reached in the water for the dish brush. Suddenly a pair of hands clamped down on his wrists and someone wrapped themselves around his waist. Dean gasped and jumped at the sudden intrusion into his personal space.

"Hush..."

Marcus leaned down, his chin resting on Dean's shoulder, and nibbled on Dean's earlobe. Dean hissed and tried to pull away but Marcus squeezed his wrists harder and forced his hands into the dishwater and held them there.

"I said hush." Marcus' voice was soft and tender and it scared the crap out of Dean.

"What do you want?" His voice was low and trembling and didn't sound like him at all.

"You know I like it when you're wet." At those words Marcus shoved his knee into Dean's buttock and kneaded it hard. It was a successful way of reminding Dean of the things they had done to him. Dean winced in pain and closed his eyes, willing himself to think about something else.

"Don't touch me." It was more of a plea than an order, and his voice was barely above a whisper. He sounded pathetic - even to him.

Marcus chuckled softly into his left ear and Dean shivered. "Why? Are you saying I can't tap that sweet ass again?"

Dean flushed at that and dishwater splashed onto the sink as he tried to free his hands from Marcus' unforgiving hold.

"Let go of me. Now."

Marcus sneered. "No."

Dean gritted his teeth and used all of his strength to push Marcus off of him. He couldn't stand those hands on him. He felt dirty enough already.

He didn't have time to react before Marcus retaliated by slamming him into the sink, and was forced instead to bite back a cry of pain when his bruised hip connected with metal.

Marcus had him cornered again in a matter of seconds and Dean who hurt too much to fight him simply turned to Marcus with a blank expression. Marcus smirked at him and licked his lips. Dean looked away quickly. The shame he felt at what he'd let happen was still so strong he couldn't bear to keep eye contact with anyone. Besides, looking at Marcus made him sick.

"That's a good boy," Marcus taunted. He wasn't really planning to hurt Dean. He just enjoyed toying with him and scaring him.

"What's going on in here?" Reinhold boomed from the doorway suddenly; his voice startling them both.

Dean glanced at Marcus as he stepped away from him slowly. Marcus was seemingly unaffected by almost getting caught. He cleared his throat and walked up to Reinhold, placing a huge hand on his older brother's shoulder and giving a faint smile. "Reinhold, we need to talk." He shot Dean a warning look before leaving the kitchen and stepping into Reinhold's office across the hall. He didn't even bother to check if Reinhold was following him or not. Reinhold cast Dean a suspicious look before following his brother into his office. Dean let out a sigh of relief as soon as they were gone and hurried to finish the dishes. He was running late.

-----

Cursing under his breath Dean ran into his room to get his keys and a sweater. He had about seven minutes before practise started. As he entered his room his eyes instantly fell on the closet and its door standing ajar. It had been closed when Dean had left the room earlier. About ten seconds later, and with a huge lump forming in his throat, he found his sock drawer in a mess and his $700 gone.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him." -- Mark Twain_

Marcus walked down the front steps of his brother's house with a short exhale. "Disaster diverted," he spoke softly under his breath and looked over his shoulder as to make sure nobody was following him. He got in his car, turned the ignition and switched on the radio. Rock music filled the car and he pulled out onto the street, heading home. He didn't notice that a car was trailing him or that it stopped when he parked his car by his house and got out. Searching his pockets for his keys was the last thing he did before something hit him in the back of his head and he fell unconscious to the ground.

John dragged Marcus' still form over to the rental car and, with a lot of effort, put him in the trunk. He secured his hands behind his back, blindfolded him and then gagged him with a piece of duct tape. Then the lid was slammed shut and darkness engulfed his captive.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam stopped in the centre circle and scratched ferociously at the rash in the crook of his arm. It itched in several places on his body now but the rash on his arm was the worst.

"This is warm-up, Sam! Keep running!" Coach Ritter called from the sideline.

Sam grimaced and gave the rash one good scratch before starting to run again. He'd run about ten laps round the field when Dean finally showed up, looking pissed as hell.

"Okay, boys!" Daniel yelled, "Divide into two teams. One's doing juggling and dribbling over there and the other will practise shots with Tim."

Kyle ran onto the field to get his team started with the dribbling exercises while Dean slowly made his way towards the goal where his team was going to practise shots. Sam made sure he was in Dean's team.

They practised shots for a while, Sam managing to only hit Tim in the groin once, and then they switched places with Kyle's team.

When everyone else was busy dribbling or juggling, Sam finally saw his chance and ran up to Dean.

"Hey," he said, hesitating a little at Dean's annoyed look. "Are you pissed at me?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, Sam, I'm not pissed at you." He paused and then sighed deeply. "There's something I gotta tell you. Can we talk after practise?"

Sam nodded. "Sure."

-----

"I'm pretty sure Martha took them while I was cleaning up in the kitchen," Dean told Sam. He chuckled sadly. "That bitch."

They were sitting in the boys locker room, everyone else had gone home. He didn't have to tell Sam more than that. Without the money, it was pretty obvious what the consequences were going to be. They wouldn't have enough cash to buy a car, they wouldn't even have enough to pay for food. Basically, without the $700, they were screwed.

"Can't you just take them back?" Sam asked.

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "And just how am I going to do that?! No, she's probably spent them already. That, or she's hidden them where there's no chance of me ever finding them. Believe me, the money's gone."

"So what are we gonna do, Dean?!" Sam exclaimed frustrated. "How the hell are we gonna get out of here?!" He was annoyed by their bad luck and the many obstacles that just kept popping up.

Dean was used to seeing his plans and dreams, his whole life basically, go down the drain, but Sam wasn't. Sam always got what he wanted and when he didn't or when something happened that he was powerless to stop he got angry, and very frustrated.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I could--"

He was cut off by Kyle stepping out from behind a row of lockers. Kyle looked at them with an expression none of the brothers could read and cleared his throat.

"I thought your name was Ulrich."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

They were well out of the city and far into the woods before John stopped the car and got out. The kicking from inside the trunk had begun about ten minutes earlier; a sign that his captive had finally regained consciousness. John took a deep breath to calm himself. He'd much rather get it over with and just kill the son of a bitch in the trunk but then he would never find out who else had hurt his son. He had to know, so he had to keep his cool.

He opened the trunk and watched the other man turn his head towards the light with a muffled cry. John Winchester was a strong man but his captive was big and heavy and so it wasn't easy to pull him out of the trunk and get him to the hole in the ground that John had dug the previous night. Marcus' squirming and kicking weren't helping things either. John dropped Marcus harshly to the ground and smiled in satisfaction when the man face-planted in the dirt. He reached for the gun he had tucked in his waistband and cocked it. The other man heard the metallic sound and froze with a soft whimper – music to John's ears.

"You have a gun pointed at your head," John informed him. "Make a sound and you're dead. Got it?"

Panting heavily and still with his face in the dirt, Marcus managed a nod, or at least something similar to it, in John's general direction. John pressed the muzzle of the gun into Marcus' temple and then ripped the duct tape from his mouth in one fluid movement. Part of Marcus' moustache came off with the tape but he kept quiet. John noticed he was sweating fiercely.

"Peed in your pants yet, Marcus?" he asked and gave a cruel laugh. The question became rhetorical with Marcus' threatened to silence and instead of a reply a sniffling sound came from the other man. John smacked him in the head with the gun and Marcus went down with a soft cry, face-planting in the dirt again.

"Shut up!"

Marcus inhaled sharply, took a couple of shaky breaths and then forced himself to complete silence.

"You hurt someone recently," John said, his voice suddenly cool and emotionless. "…A teenage boy." He watched Marcus struggle to take calm, even breaths and then crouched down beside him. "Am I right?"

Marcus exhaled slowly, hysterics making his entire body shake and his every breath hitch, but he said nothing.

"Answer me." John ordered and kicked Marcus in the ribs. "Answer me! Now." It was the last warning, the last chance.

Marcus, too afraid not to comply, nodded slowly.

"Was it just you? Or were there more?" John continued. He didn't pay Marcus' admission much regard - he already knew he was his guy. What he wanted to know was whether or not Marcus was the lone perpetrator of the vile act done to his son.

His captive just lay there, saying nothing, and it was pissing John off. He took Marcus by the hair and pulled him into a sitting position, and then pointed the gun at his sweaty forehead. "You don't want to play games with me," he said in a low, menacing voice before carefully and deliberately letting the muzzle of the gun travel down to trace Marcus' quivering lips.

Marcus choked back a sob, obviously valuing his life more than his pride, and whispered; "Two more."

It was an answer John hadn't been prepared for. "Son-of-a-bitch," he breathed, lowering the gun a little. _Three?_ He had feared Marcus had had an accomplice - but two… There had been three of them. Just the implication of the number made him sick to his stomach. "You fucking bastard," he growled, grabbing Marcus by the throat and squeezing hard. "…Who are they?"

Marcus choked under his grip and fought to free himself. John only squeezed harder and the other man coughed helplessly, slumping to the ground. However, John wasn't intending to kill him just yet so Marcus was soon let go and allowed to greedily gasp for air. When he had caught his breath John pulled him up again and trained the gun on him.

"What are their names?" John repeated, eyes staring intently at his enemy.

"If I tell you," Marcus wheezed, a drop of sweat – or possibly a tear, sliding down his cheek, "Do you promise not to kill me?"

John gritted his teeth at that and then gave a wicked smile. "Tell me their names and I won't fuck you with the blade of a knife like I had planned to."

The thought of a knife working into his rear flesh made Marcus visibly shudder. "Hank and Tony," he revealed in a low voice, like the coward he was.

"Hank and Tony what?" John pried. "What are their last names?"

"Hank Brisley…" Marcus paused, "I don't know Tony's last name."

"Yes, you do and you'll tell me right now."

Marcus shook his head forcefully. "No, I don't. I swear to God."

"I don't believe you," John said. And he didn't. There was a shot, muffled by a silencer, and a scream ripped from Marcus' throat, echoing between the trees.

'A gunshot wound to the leg is a small price to pay for having raped and abused a kid,' John thought and considered firing another shot - then decided against it.

"Now let's try this again," he continued in a calm voice, watching blood ooze from the wound in Marcus' thigh.

"Oh, God!" Marcus cried hoarsely. "Please! I don't know his fucking name, I swear."

"Okay. Do you know where he lives? Where he works?"

"No!" Marcus exclaimed, "I don't know anything except his name is Tony. He isn't my goddamn friend!"

John's dark eyes travelled to Marcus' face. "Then whose friend is he?"

"Fucking Hank's," Marcus gritted out through another wave of pain. Blindfolded as he was Marcus did not see the smile of satisfaction on John's face. John had gotten the information he needed and now it was payback time.

-----

John slapped the last pile of dirt into the ground with the shovel and took a step back to admire his work. The only thing of Marcus that wasn't now buried under ground was his head. Because of all the screaming and the hyperventilating Marcus had been gagged again and was now struggling to breathe against the several feet worth of dirt that had been packed around him.

"You know, they say it takes two weeks to die from hunger," John told the head sticking up from the ground. "As long as you have water that is. But without water you'd die from thirst within three to four days."

Marcus' head whipped back and forth; the only thing visible of the struggle that was taking place under ground. A few muffled sobs escaped him when he realized he was stuck.

"But I think you've got a bigger problem than that," John continued his monologue, "Keep crying and panting like that and you'll die from asphyxiation."

More muffled sobs and then a couple of gasps for air from Marcus had John chuckling.

"I'm just saying."

John threw the shovel in the trunk along with the bag holding all of Marcus' clothes and slammed it closed. He turned back to the bobbing head with a devilish grin. "If you're lucky, what is in the dirt will kill you before you can suffocate. Now I don't know about you, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed for that."

He scanned the ground around them one more time to check that he hadn't left or forgotten anything that could be traced back to him. Pleased there wasn't anything, he threw Marcus another look before getting in the car and driving away.

**TBC**

**Please, please review! **

A/N2: Yes, a person can suffocate from being buried like Marcus was. Dirt, or whatever packed around a person like that, puts a lot of pressure on the chest (and therefore also the lungs) and can if you're very unlucky suffocate you. I know this from seeing it happen once. (I work at a hospital.)


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"_He that is thy friend indeed,_

_He will help thee in thy need:_

_If thou sorrow, he will weep;_

_If thou wake, he cannot sleep:_

_Thus of every grief in heart_

_He with thee does bear a part." -- William Shakespeare_

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_The ball hit __14-year-old Rick right in the gut and he bent over with a soft groan. Paul Belton was on him in a second, pushing and shoving; fighting for possession of the ball even if Rick wasn't. A well placed kick in the side had Rick falling to his knees, gasping, while the crowd jeered from the sideline._

"_Schmidt you pussy!" someone called. "What the fuck's wrong with you?!" yelled another, "You're like a freakin' girl!" _

_Rick ignored them and got to his feet. K__yle though saw red and took off after Paul Belton with a determination like that of a predator going after its prey. You didn't do things like that to a teammate and get away with it. Paul was a big guy but Kyle was quick on his feet and a much more skilled player and was soon level with him. He faked a side tackle and Paul shot out an arm to hold him off. But it wasn't the ball Kyle was going after like he led Paul to believe. He slowed down a little, letting Paul think he'd made a breakaway, then he shot forward, swinging his leg in front of Paul's foot as if going for a back tackle. His foot didn't touch the ball but Paul's leg, just as planned, and Paul went down with a cry, literally biting the dust when he landed with a flop on his belly. _

"_Hacking!!" the crowd roared from the sideline in protest and the referee blew his whistle. _

_Kyle smirked. _

-----

_Rick was always last to take a shower__ and last to leave the locker room. Kyle and his dad usually waited outside in the car for him but today Daniel Ritter was in a hurry. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently and glanced at his son in the rear-view mirror._

"_Kyle…"_

"_He'll be right out.__"_

"_Kyle."_

_He sighed. "Alright, alright." He got out of the car and ran up to the brick building to get Rick._

_He opened the door to the locker room and stepped inside, his sneakers soundless against the linoleum. He walked past several rows of lockers before he spotted Rick. His friend was standing with his back to him and was busy doing up his jeans. Rick opened his mouth to address him but froze as his eyes fell on Rick's back. Lacerations ran across it in thick streaks and if Kyle didn't know any better he'd say they were whip marks. It sure looked like it. He gasped softly. Rick heard him and whipped around, eyes wide. He grabbed his t-shirt from the bench and covered his chest with it, but not before Kyle saw the dark bruises that covered his chest and abdomen. _

"_Kyle," he breathed, "Y__ou scared the crap outta me." _

"_Sorry."_

"_What do you want?" Rick worked his t-shirt over his head and pulled it down over his stomach quickly._

_Kyle stared at him. "Uh, Daniel's in a hurry. Told me to come get you." He studied his friend as he threw his things into his sports bag and__ slumped down on the bench to put on his shoes. _

"_Your back…Did the guys do that?" He was referring to the lacerations and by guys he __meant Paul Belton and his friends._

"_What are you talking about?" Rick queried - as if the last couple of minutes had never happened. _

_Kyle did a double take, s__hocked by Rick's complete denial of the situation, but he quickly recovered. "You know you can tell me anything."_

_Rick gave him a cold look. "It's nothing. __I'm fine. Okay?" He got up and stalked past Kyle towards the door. _

"_Okay," Kyle whispered. He didn't push. Never did._

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Just because somebody doesn't lov__e you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they got" -- Anonymous_

None of them had said a word since Kyle had declared he'd give them both a ride home. He'd given Dean that look that said not to argue and then turned on his heels and walked outside.

Sam didn't say anything but he scratched himself and looked over at Dean guiltily. Dean avoided his brother's gaze, tossed his car keys into his sports bag and zipped it, his heart beating frantically the whole time. Kyle had made it pretty clear; Martha's Volvo wasn't leaving the school parking lot that night.

Judging by the look on Kyle's face Dean was unsure if even he would be leaving the parking lot that night. Maybe dawn would find him beaten bloody and lying unconscious somewhere out there. He wouldn't be surprised if it happened, but he'd understand. He threw his bag over his shoulder and went outside, a lump forming in his throat. Sam zipped his bag and hurried after.

Kyle was waiting for them in his father's car and revved the engine when he spotted them. Sam glanced at Dean nervously but Dean ignored him and went over to the waiting vehicle. Drawing closer he hesitated a little, afraid suddenly to face his friend. Sam noticed and quickly moved to take the passenger seat, allowing Dean to take refuge in the back.

Kyle said nothing as they got in the car but turned up the volume on the car stereo and when Rage Against the Machine's 'Tire me' sawed through the silence, Dean winced.

-----

"Uh, thanks for the ride, Kyle," Sam croaked as he struggled to find his voice again after nearly thirty minutes of awkward silence. Kyle said nothing, just stared straight ahead. Sam nodded to him before sending Dean a sad puppy look filled with concern. But Dean had his eyes closed and didn't notice. Sam sighed and took a few steps back before he turned around and strode towards his parents' house. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times as if to make sure Kyle wouldn't run him over with the car.

When he was gone Kyle started up the car and pulled out onto the road again.

They were quiet for most of the ride back, both waiting for the other to say something. Dean knew he should be the one to initiate contact but couldn't bring himself to say or do anything. He wanted to explain, to say he was sorry, or at least something along that line but he didn't know how to say it or if Kyle would even want to hear it. After all, he'd lied to him for nine years. So he said nothing and instead turned his attention to his fingernails, biting down on them with an appetite one would usually reserve for something like fillet mignon. It was Kyle who finally broke the silence.

"Is Dean really your name?"

Dean spitted out a piece of nail and studied his friend's reflection in the window before turning his way. He nodded. "Winchester."

"What?"

"Dean Winchester."

Kyle made a sound in his throat and shifted gears. The car accelerated.

"So what, you're in some kind of witness protection program or sumthin'?"

Dean tried to hold back the bitter laugh. "I wish." Kyle looked at him quizzically, and Dean wished he had. "Uh, no." He paused. He really didn't want to talk about his foster parents and his crappy life.

Kyle picked up on his reluctance to talk and glanced over at Dean. It was obvious Rick didn't trust him enough to tell him. He wanted to know though. He wanted to know why he had lied to him for so long.

"So…how did your dad get home?" Dean asked.

'The famous distraction strategy,' Kyle thought bitterly. He didn't want to change the subject, he wanted to ask why they were running away, but he didn't. He didn't push. Never did. Instead he huffed and shook his head in surrender. "My mom picked him up."

"Oh." They fell into silence and not a word passed either of their lips for the rest of the drive.

-----

They had just passed the high school when Dean saw him. Tony. The man was clearly drunk, half falling-half walking up the stairs to a small house that looked more like a shack. Dean's heart began beating rapidly and he looked on as Tony fished a key from his pocket and fumbled with the lock. Kyle stepped on the gas and the car shot forward, rushing past Tony. Dean twisted in his seat to watch the man as he more or less fell through the door of his house.

Kyle dropped him off at his house about five minutes later and he stared at Dean as Dean reached into the backseat for his bag. None of them spoke. When Dean got out of the car, an action that clearly took a lot of effort, Kyle's brow creased a little but he said nothing. Dean closed the door and it shut with a squeaky noise. It was the only sound that would pass between them for a while.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_You need to be aware of what others are doing, applaud their efforts, acknowledge their successes, and encourage them in their pursuits. When we all help one another, everybody wins." -- Jim Stovall_

Sam closed the door behind him with a soft sigh of relief. The ride home hadn't been the most relaxing. He figured Kyle must've been pissed at both of them for lying to him. He was probably more pissed at Dean because they had been friends longer. But as of lately Sam and Kyle had hung out a lot and so Sam felt just as guilty as Dean for shutting him out and lying to him.

At first, with the look Kyle had given them, Sam had been convinced he would kill them both. Yet he knew he would never hurt either of them. Kyle was a good guy. But it just didn't feel like it right now. And it hadn't felt good to leave Dean alone with him either.

Another thing that didn't feel good was Dean's money disappearing. Sam really wanted Dean to get away from those people and he really wanted to go with him. With the money gone, things didn't look so great. They would probably never get out of there. Unless…

He dropped his sports bag on the floor and ran upstairs to look for Tina.

-----

He found Tina in his room, cleaning up. He stepped inside and grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Tina, I need to talk to you."

She turned towards him with a smile. "Sam. How was soccer practise?"

He closed the door to his room. "It was fine," he replied as he pushed her towards the private bathroom.

Tina resisted a little. "Hey! What're you doing?

Sam pushed her into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. "I have to tell you something."

Tina frowned and took on an authoritative stance, her hands resting on her hips. "Okay, what did you do now?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle at her serious face. "Nothing." _Yet._ "I just need to tell you something. Something important."

"What is it?"

And Sam told her everything; how Dean's foster parents were treating him, his suspicions of Dean's foster dad beating him and about his and Dean's plans to get away. He told her about the car and the money going missing and how it had wrecked everything. He told her how he hated his life and that he wanted to start fresh with Dean someplace far away.

He wasn't really sure how he'd expected her to react to all this information, but the thought that she might take it badly hadn't even crossed his mind. So he was completely taken aback when she stormed off crying.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

_"Justice is the firm and continuous desire to render to everyone that which is his due." – Justinian_

Hank parked in the driveway and stumbled out of his car; drunk-driving another fine trait of his. He'd dropped off Tony a while earlier and after ignoring two red lights and driving across several lawns he was finally home. He swayed a little as he closed the car door and cursed under his breath. He breathed in his hand and sniffed it curiously. A whiff of smoke and beer filled his nostrils and he drew back quickly and chuckled. A few seconds later he had his nose buried in his armpit, smelling it as a look of disgust crossed his face.

"Hank Brisley?"

Hank jumped and turned towards the voice. All he could make out was a blurry, dark shape of someone.

"Dude, I'm so drunk," he chuckled and rubbed a hand over his eyes instead of answering. The shape moved closer and Hank took a step back, his lower back brushing against the side of his car. "Hey, watch the paint job!" he admonished himself and then ran his hand over the car's smooth surface lovingly. When he turned to look at the dark figure again the man was standing right before him.

"Payback's a bitch." The blurry man spoke.

"What?"

Then Hank's world went black.

-----

When he came to he was lying on a dirt floor, gagged and with his hands tied behind his back. Despite the head wound and the alcohol still in his bloodstream he sobered quickly at the sight of a masked man looming above him.

"Oh, God," he gasped behind the gag. The words were muffled but still audible.

"God won't help you," the masked man told him cruelly, "Not from this. Know why? Because you deserve whatever's coming to you."

John stepped away from his captive and walked over to a wooden chair that was standing in the middle of the dark room. He'd already sawed off a piece of one of the legs and made sure it would be unstable enough to give his captive a lot of trouble. Then he'd replaced the removed piece of wood with a brick to keep the chair sturdy until he carried out the punishment.

He picked up a rope from the floor with a gloved hand, grabbed Hank by the arm and pulled him into a sitting position. Hank yelped at the sight of the rope, the noose dangling right before his eyes. He began struggling fiercely but with his hands tied behind his back he was no match for John. Within seconds the noose was secured around his neck.

"Stand up." The order was cold and flat, devoid of emotion.

Hank whimpered a muffled. "Please, no."

John grabbed his gun from his waistband and pointed it at Hank. "I said stand up."

Hank's breath hitched and a sob escaped his lips. "…anything…" The word was barely audible but the distinctive sound of a plea was definitely heard.

John pulled Hank to his feet roughly. "You think that's what all this is about?" he snorted. "I don't want anything from you. This is revenge."

A sound of confusion came from the other man and John sighed. He was really quite tired of these assholes acting like they had no idea what they'd done wrong. "You fucking raped a kid," he spat. Just saying it made him feel sick and he regretted his choice of words as his stomach churned alarmingly.

He shoved Hank towards the chair with such force the other man almost fell over.

"Climb up on the chair," he ordered.

Hank struggled to regain his footing and when he did he made a sudden break for the door that was on the other side of the room. The end of the rope dragged behind him and all John had to do was step on it to bring the escape to an abrupt end.

Hank tumbled over, falling on his side with a choked cry. John was on him instantly, grabbing him by his sweaty armpits and dragging him back towards the chair.

"Get up there or I'll shoot you in the fuckin' head," he barked.

A deep shudder ran through Hank's body followed shortly by a series of muffled sobs. "I'm sorry," he begged behind the gag. "Please." Tears welled in his eyes, forced their way out and ran in thin streaks down his face.

John cocked the gun in blunt reply and pointed it at Hank's temple. Hank flinched, and began rocking back and forth. "No, no, no."

John grabbed Hank by the arm again and forced him to his feet. He threw the end of the rope over a beam in the ceiling and grabbed it again as it dropped down on the other side. He pulled in the rope and the noose around Hank's neck forced him gasping to his toes.

"On the chair," John said calmly. He pulled in the rope again and then added; "I won't hang you." Hank sobbed. He clearly didn't believe him, yet he obeyed, placing a foot on the seat of the chair reluctantly. John stretched the rope further, giving Hank no other option than to continue his climb. When Hank was standing with both feet on the chair John tied the end of the rope to a pipe on the wall. He made sure to stretch the rope so Hank was forced to stand on his toes.

He looked up at Hank with a devilish grin. "I won't hang you, Hank. You will."

If Hank was surprised John knew his name he didn't show it. Panic glinted in his eyes and his breath came in short hitches.

"This is for what you did to Ulrich Schmidt," John stated curtly. He supported the chair with his body as he leant down and carefully removed the brick from under the sawed down leg. Hank gasped softly when he realized the chair was suddenly wobbly beneath his feet. His body grew rigid immediately in a desperate attempt to keep the chair steady.

John scanned the room, making sure he'd leave no trace of him ever being there and then he turned back to Hank with a sneer. Hank didn't notice, all his attention was focused solely on keeping the chair standing, and thus saving his own life. Sweat beaded his forehead with the strain.

John admired his work and picked up the brick from the floor.

"I hope you have a good sense of balance," he said and then he left.

What Hank didn't know as he fought for his life was that the noose around his neck wasn't a noose but a loop tied in a way that he wouldn't get strangled. The punishment didn't lie in killing him but in the fear of death and the strenuous struggle to stay alive.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam was almost asleep when the door opened to his room and Tina peeked inside.

"Sam?"

"Mmm," he replied sleepily, turning his back to the door to get away from the light that filtered in through the small opening.

Tina slipped inside and shut the door slowly.

"You can take the Mustang," she whispered hoarsely.

"What?" Sam wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"You heard me!" Tina hissed. "You can take my car." And before Sam had a chance to say anything she was gone.

**TBC**

**Please review!**


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Hi guys! I'm so sorry for the late update. I've been busy with school and work among other things. I had actually planned to post this chapter later on together with a music video for the story that the lovely Tara is making but I thought I've kept you waiting long enough.

Btw, I met Jensen Ackles at the Asylum convention May 11-13!!! I met him on several occasions and actually won a chance (together with 8 more girls) to speak to him for an entire hour!!! I've written down an account of what happened, and put up photos and video clips of me and Jensen. As of now I've only posted an account of the Friday and the Saturday. I will write an account of the Sunday (plus post one more pic of me and Jensen) soon. Next chapter you will get the link for the music video Tara has made and the link for the 'Sunday at Asylum' account. I hope you'll check back for those. Here's the link for the Friday/Saturday account of my journey to England:

**http://kelbub****(dot)livejournal(dot)com/2007/05/28/ **

Remember, the (dot)s are really .

Send me a PM if you have trouble with the link.

Enjoy!

- Kel

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_The worst thing one can do is not to try, to be aware of what one wants and not give in to it, to spend years in silent hurt wondering if something could have materialized – and never knowing" -- David Viscott_

His eyelids were heavier than usual and his breath, drunk with sleep, was stuffy and smelt of mint against his pillow. He was breathing softer and much slower than usual; like he was in deep sleep. Only he wasn't asleep, nor was he loving the whiff of toothpaste mint that suddenly invaded his nostrils. His hand went up to scratch at a rash in the crook of his arm as he opened his eyes slowly. He'd had a nightmare and he'd woken up with six year old Dean's terrified scream still ringing in his ears. He couldn't remember everything about the dream or the reason for the terror displayed on his brother's face. But he knew one thing for certain, he'd dreamt of the past because his dad had also been in the dream. John. John with his dark eyes and dark hair. John with the broad shoulders and intimidating stature. Sam hadn't known his father's face for years and all of a sudden it was as clear as day. He remembered.

He sat up with a sharp intake of breath and rubbed a hand over his face shakily. It felt like one of those days when you should stay in bed and Sam seriously considered lying back down and do just that. Then he heard the sound of porcelain crashing into tiles, and he was out of bed and on his way down the grand staircase in a second. After the sound of what Sam guessed was the demise of his mom's beloved African Stoneware plates, a couple of choked sobs made their way through the open door of the kitchen.

"Tina!"

Eyes that had been fixed on the shards of African Stoneware plates on the floor were suddenly on Sam. Sam looked at her in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

Tina shrugged with a resigned sigh. "It's ruined." _I've ruined everything. _

"What?"

Tina frowned at him, annoyed by his cluelessness, and gestured to the shards on the floor. "Your mother's collection of African plates!" A soft sob escaped from her lips. "They were one of a kind and I broke all of them."

Sam stared at a shard of what he knew was the depiction of an African steel sickle. The plate was his mom's favourite but he'd never liked it, or any African stoneware for that matter.

He snorted. "If you ask me you did the world a favour."

What he didn't know then was that eight years later he'd be at an art gallery, admiring the very same African steel sickle – this time in a painting, with his arm around a beautiful girl named Jessica.

Tina wiped away a tear and sniffed softly. "It's forever you know…" She pulled out a chair and sat down slowly.

"What is?" Sam asked.

Tina looked absolutely miserable. She ran her fingers through her hair and just looked at him for a moment.

"After you've left, we can't stay in contact. It'd be too risky… When you leave, it's forever."

She was right. Sam knew she was right. And it broke his heart. He'd been miserable in this family, in this house, but Tina had made it bearable. Tina had been and still was like a sister to him. She'd taken care of him. She'd looked out for him. She'd been there when no one else had. But when he left he'd be leaving her behind too because Tina's life was here and his wasn't.

Tina sniffed again and Sam felt like a complete jerk. He was the reason Tina was so sad. He gulped, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, but it didn't help against the rush of emotion that was constricting his throat and making his eyes water. He walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her slim shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I don't want to leave you, but I can't stay here."

A tear trickled down Tina's cheek and she wiped at it angrily. "I know," she said. _And that's why I'm letting you go._

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

_**Two days later…**_

**DEAN**

"Popcorn?"

An arm shot out from the darkness beside him and a bag of popcorn was held under his nose. Dean glanced in Mandy's direction and shook his head.

"No, thanks." He was feeling nauteous already.

"Gimme!" Michael whispered loudly, which brought on a tirade of hushing from their fellow moviegoers. Michael turned in his chair to meet their murderous looks. "Sorry…"

Mandy, Michael's sister, leaned over Dean's lap to slap her older brother. "Shut up."

Michael snatched the bag of popcorn from her with a huge grin but said nothing. Mandy glared at him before sitting back down in her seat with a resigned sigh. Dean didn't notice his friends bickering or the hushing of the crowd behind them. His eyes were on Kevin Bacon's character and he watched in terror as the man came through the door of one of the boys' cells. There wasn't a doubt in Dean's mind what was gonna happen next and he closed his eyes quickly as his stomach did a flip-flop.

He hadn't known when they walked in there. He hadn't known what would be played out before them. This wasn't Drama. This wasn't a thriller. This was a nightmare. This was more than he could take.

He heard a sob and a grunt and nearly puked in his own lap. Another grunt and he was out of his chair, squeezing past the row of chairs and legs that were blocking his exit. By the fourth grunt he was in a cold sweat and by the fifth he was out the door.

Two minutes later he was puking his guts out in the alley by the movie theatre. He'd only been gone for a couple of minutes when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He whirled around, eyes wide with more than fear, his body tense and ready to fight.

"Whoa!" Michael took a step back, hands held up in surrender. "Take it easy."

Dean relaxed somewhat and turned away from his friend to spit on the ground behind him. He could still taste puke and his mouth burned from stomach acid.

"What's up with you?" Michael seemed genuinely concerned and once again Dean hated himself for having to lie to those who actually cared about him.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Food poisoning maybe," Michael offered thoughtfully. "You probably ate something funny."

Dean nodded slowly, grateful for the pass. "Yeah, probably. Uh…we had chicken for dinner." It was a weak response and an obvious lie and Dean wanted to kick himself for going with it. All he wanted now was to get out of there without having to tell too many lies. "Uh…I think I'm just gonna head home."

Michael studied him in a way that made Dean realize he didn't buy the charade. He looked away and shifted uncomfortably.

"Alright, buddy. You can watch the movie another time. Seeya!"

A pat on his back and Michael was gone. Dean leaned over and spitted a couple of more times before he headed home.

Dean never did return to that movie theatre. He didn't want to. And eight years later when his dad turned up the volume of their motel room TV to watch a movie he knew nothing about, Dean just upped and left. Why? Because he never could finish watching that movie.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"Sam!?"

"Yeah?"

Sam reached out, turned the doorknob and pushed open the door for his mother. She stepped into his room in a tight black dress and high heels and from her earlobes dangled a pair of diamond earrings. She looked beautiful.

"You look nice mom," Sam commented as she closed the door. She gave him a small smile and sat down beside him on the bed.

"Sam, the CPS called today."

"Oh." Sam didn't know what else to say.

"We've arranged for a meeting with one of their representatives tomorrow at noon," his mother continued. "You could wear the same clothes you wore at the Donner party last weekend. Let Tina help you with the tie though…"

"Mom--"

"We can talk later, honey.

"But--"

"Samuel, I don't want to be late for the party." His mom got off the bed and gave Sam a quick kiss on the cheek. "Tell Tina we won't be back for at least a couple of hours."

Sam sighed. "Sure."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood it is hard to shake hands with her." -- Oscar Wilde_

A muffled scream was torn from his gut and he woke up with a start. He disentangled himself from the covers and sat up with one hand to his chest and the other to his ear. There was a dull thumping in his right ear and his heart was beating frantically in his chest. 'Another nightmare,' he thought miserably, 'No – worse than a nightmare… And I'm sick of this!' He scooted off the bed and reached for his jeans and shirt. He knew what he needed to do now. What he had to do to stop the nightmares. He had to get rid of the person that caused them. He flicked on the light and walked over to his closet. He'd something stashed in there that would be of perfect use…

-----

Kyle loved to take walks. He actually preferred walking to driving. He was a bit of a nerd that way. Walking to Rick's, uh Dean's, house took about 23 minutes if you walked fast. He'd clocked it. He even knew how many steps it took door to door; 5061. He'd walked this way a million times – that's why he knew. This late night/early morning it took him about two thousand steps more and fifteen minutes longer to walk that same stretch of road. Why? Because he kept changing his mind. He'd walked about halfway to Dean's house when he decided he had nothing to apologize for, Dean had, and he turned on his heel and headed back home. But only four minutes later he told himself he was being a stubborn ass and with a heavy sigh he turned around, once again walking in the direction of Dean's house. On the way over there he stopped another time and cursed silently, annoyed at himself for being such a 'needy son of a bitch', before continuing walking.

All in all, it took him more than half an hour, and a hell of a lot more willpower than normal, before he grazed the steps of the Schmidt house. He grabbed the key from its hiding spot and was about to open the front door - he almost never rang the doorbell, just walked inside - when he heard a door slam shut with a loud bang. He peeped round the corner of the house just in time to spot Dean walking off with determined steps, holding a baseball bat in his hand. Apparently, Kyle didn't know much about his friend – and it had been quite evident the other night - but he knew enough to be alarmed by the sight of the baseball bat. Dean didn't play baseball. And the bat wasn't even his, it was Kyle's. Not even Kyle used the bat to play baseball so since when did Dean? And why was he going out in the middle of the night? This couldn't be good. Without second thought Kyle slipped around the corner to follow his friend.

Dean walked fast even though he still had a slight limp but Kyle had no problems keeping up with him. He made sure to stay back far enough for Dean not to spot him should he look over his shoulder. He was close enough though to hear the pants coming from his friend. The panting grew heavier as Dean crossed the street and walked up to an old house. The house in question looked more like a shed than a house Kyle thought. The paint was coming off the walls and the front door looked like it was climbing off its hinges. What the hell were they doing there?

Dean stopped on the lawn in front of the house and dropped the bat to the ground to wipe sweaty palms against jean clad thighs. His breathing became ragged and Kyle listened and waited breathlessly, unsure of what his friend was planning to do. He heard Dean take a deep breath and watched him pick the bat off the ground and stride up to the house with a look of fierce determination on his face. Dean stepped up to the front door and Kyle jumped when the door was kicked hard enough to cause the whole house to rattle.

_What the hell?!_

A shout came from inside the house and Dean gave the door another hard kick.

"What the fuck's going on?!" the man inside the house yelled. And Kyle was asking himself the same thing.

Dean took a quick step to the side when the door flew open and before Kyle could make a move to stop him, Dean raised the baseball bat and hit the owner of the house in the back of the head. With the strength of the blow Kyle was surprised there was no ear piercing scream but merely a groan as the man fell to the ground. Before he knew it he was running towards the house, his mouth still slightly agape at what he'd just witnessed. The man at Dean's feet wasn't moving and neither was Dean for a moment. Then the baseball bat was raised again and all Kyle could think was 'no, no, no'. He hadn't even realized he was running before he slammed into Dean, tackling him to the ground and effectively stopping him from laying that second blow. Dean cried out as they hit ground, but more from anger than from pain.

"Ri-- Dean! What the hell are you doing, man?!" Kyle yelled. Dean thrashed against his hold, howling like a wounded animal, seemingly not aware of who was pinning him down. He twisted again under Kyle's weight, his hand reaching for the baseball bat that lay only inches away. His hand closed around the handle and a second later the bat was airborne, aimed at Kyle's head. Kyle managed to just barely duck before the bat flew over his head with a soft swoosh and landed with a clatter on the ground behind them. That was, by far, more than he could let pass. Hard and without mercy, he grabbed Dean by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. He was stronger than Dean, always had been, and especially now when his patience equalled zero. Dean squealed in pain and Kyle released his arm quickly. He wanted to stop his friend – not hurt him. Dean howled again and Kyle slapped his hand over his mouth. "Shut up."

His hand still covering Dean's mouth, Kyle scanned the area around them. Despite all the noise the neighbouring houses were still dark and quiet. It surprised him but it was also a relief. His eyes moved to the man Dean had hit over the head. He was still out cold and his breathing was uneven and slow. Kyle only bothered to check that the man was alive before focusing his attention on Dean. Dean wasn't screaming anymore but he was still struggling against Kyle's hold. Kyle removed his hand from Dean's mouth and stood, pulling Dean up with him.

"What the fuck was that?" He didn't expect an answer and, of course, he didn't receive one. "You could've killed him you know!?"

Dean gave him a 'duh' look before he spat; "So?"

Again, Kyle found himself stumped to silence. What the hell had happened to make Dean want to kill this man? He huffed and reached for the bat. "Let's go, Dean."

"No."

"What was that?" Kyle turned to look at Dean's defiant face.

"You heard me!"

"Yeah, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think I'm just gonna leave you here with that guy." Kyle felt his whole body tense as he spoke. He might not know Dean that well but he knew Rick and sometimes Rick didn't listen to reason, and tonight seemed like one of those times. "Listen, I know you--"

Dean cut him off with a bitter laugh. "You don't know shit okay!? You think you know everything but you don't have a fucking clue. And you sure as hell don't know me!"

Pain. Like a knife stab to his back. That's what Kyle felt first before his face flushed with anger. "You're coming with me. NOW!" That was a warning.

"Fuck you!" Dean retorted and before Kyle knew it he was kicked hard in the stomach and sent sprawling to the ground. Then as he lay fighting to get air back into his lungs Dean went for the bat again.

Still struggling to draw a breath Kyle watched in horror as Dean raised the bat and hit the unconscious man in the back. Dean didn't seem to get any satisfaction from what he did though. And instead of the raw anger that had just been directed at Kyle there was a look of sad acceptance on his face, as if what he did had to be done even if it was against his will. It didn't matter though, Kyle thought, Dean had to be stopped. Then finally, right before panic set in, he drew a breath and air filled his lungs. Moments later he was sitting on Dean's back, holding his arms behind his back with one hand and holding Dean down with the other. The bat lay discarded beside them.

"Okay," Kyle hissed into Dean's ear, "as far as I'm concerned you have two choices. Either you come with me – voluntarily - or I'll deck your sorry ass and carry you back to your house. What's it gonna be?"

"Let go of me." Dean wasn't yelling at him. In fact, his voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

Kyle let go of Dean's right arm and was taken aback when Dean used it to wipe at his eyes. Without a word, Kyle grabbed the bat and climbed off of his friend.

"Get up," he said.

Dean obeyed; head down and shoulders slumped, turned away from Kyle. Kyle grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer. "Let's get out of here."

**-o-o****-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_I remember, I remember, _

_The fir trees dark and high;_

_I used to think their slender tops_

_Were close against the sky:_

_It was a childish ignorance,_

_But now 'tis little joy_

_To know I'm farther off from heav'n_

_Than when I was a boy." -- Thomas Hood_

He didn't even register the flick of his wrist, the turn of the key or the switch of the lock. In his hand was a note with the name and address of the third perpetrator and in his mind played the one line on repeat; 'Two down - one to go'.

John hid the key to his motel room under the pot of one of the many plants lining the walkway and then dug in his pocket for another set of keys – the keys to his newly acquired Chevy Impala. It was a black car, like John's Impala, but still they were two entirely different cars. One was his baby, the other was merely a tool in this his last plan of revenge.

There wasn't a squeak from the door when he climbed into the car. There wasn't a roar from the engine when he turned the ignition but a purr. John was happy to be able to slip away that quietly, without anyone noticing.

Twenty minutes later he stood outside of Tony's house staring down at the man laying unconscious at his feet. At first he'd thought someone had beat him to the punch but a small moan from the ground had proved otherwise. John grabbed Tony by the arms and dragged him towards the black Impala. Two hours later justice had been served.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

Kyle didn't let go of Dean's arm until they were almost at his house.

"I know you're pissed at me," he told Dean, "and you don't think I know the real you, but you're wrong. I know more about you than you think."

Dean snorted and shot Kyle a skeptical look. No one knew the real Dean - not even Dean. "Whatever."

_Two days. Two days before Paul Belton got back at him. And as usual, it wasn't a fair fight. Kyle had good hearing but this time he heard nothing – not until it was too late. A hard shove and he was smacked face first into the wall. The wall was hard and unforgiving and Kyle felt his knees buckle under him as his world slowly went black. _

_When he came to they were in the shower room, two of them pinning his hands to the wall and him crumbled on the floor with water spraying down on him. He knew he couldn't have been out more than a minute or so because in their faces he could read that the beating had just begun. His heart picked up speed as adrenaline kicked in and he cried out in pain when the back of his head hit tiles from another ruthless shove. They were four and more than he could take on. _

"_Hey!"_

_Despite the fog in his head and the bullies standing in his line of sight Kyle knew it was Rick. Of course it was Rick. He was always last to take a shower and last to leave the locker room. _

_His hands were released instantly as Rick approached them, knobs under his shoes clicking against the tiled floor._

"_Well, well what have we here…" Paul taunted. "Back to get your ass kicked, Ricky?"_

_Unlike the others Kyle couldn't see the smirk on Rick's face as he replied, "So what if I am?" None of them knew that Rick would rather take a beating himself than watch someone else get hurt. They didn't know that he was okay with that kind of pain. But Kyle knew. _

_If Rick's reply had confused the others it didn't show. None of them even hesitated as they took him up on the offer, slamming him into the wall and then throwing him to the floor. Kyle flinched when he heard his friend's wrist snap as he landed arms outstretched to break his fall. Rick lay only inches away from Kyle, close enough to get wet from the same spray of water. A soft groan escaped him when he cradled his broken wrist against his chest and sat up to face the others. _

"'_S that all you got," he mocked, "That was weak."_

'_The crazy bastard must have a death wish,' Kyle thought, a sudden pride rising in his chest, 'Kinda like me.' _

"Hey, do you remember the time Paul Belton broke your wrist?"

Dean looked up at him, surprised. "Yeah...?"

"They were beating the holy crap out of me but you had my back and you stopped them."

Dean glanced away. "Yeah, and totally got my ass kicked," he muttered.

"That's not the point."

Dean's dark eyes were on him again, confusion shining through once more. "What do you mean?"

"The point is you helped me even if you knew you were outnumbered," Kyle explained, somewhat impatient. "Don't you get it? That was you. It wasn't Rick or Dean but you. So I know you. And you know what…you're a complete knucklehead!" Dean sniggered at that and Kyle grinned at him. "C'mon."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam frowned when he saw his mom throw Kyle and Dean a disgusted look. He opened the door to the red Jaguar and climbed out without as much as a word.

"Sam," she called immediately.

He turned around with a groan. "What?!"

"I'll pick you up in two hours. Make sure you don't get your clothes dirty. And don't do anything stupid."

Sam rolled his eyes at her. "Stupid? You mean like play soccer," he cast another glance in his brother's direction and noticed the baseball bat in his hands, "or baseball? Give me a break!" He slammed the door shut hard and walked up the driveway and onto the lawn with a huge smile on his face. It seemed like Dean and Kyle were friends again.

"Hi guys!"

Kyle laughed at something Dean whispered to him and nodded to Sam. "Wassup, Pluto?"

"What's the baseball bat for?" Sam asked Dean as he sat down next to him on the grass. "I thought you said you didn't like to play baseball."

Kyle took the bat from Dean. "He doesn't," he said, "It's mine."

Sam scratched at the rash in the crook of his arm and grimaced. "Kyle, what are you doing here?"

"He stopped by and I told him to stay," Dean answered before Kyle could say anything.

"What?" Sam looked from Dean to Kyle and then back to Dean. They were supposed to come up with a backup plan today. He was supposed to tell Dean he'd gotten them a car.

Dean stood up and walked towards the house. "C'mon guys!"

Kyle looked at Sam and shrugged before getting up to follow Dean.

-----

They entered Dean's room and Dean closed the door behind them carefully. Kyle slumped down on Dean's bed and stretched out his sore limbs, the bat rested beside him. Sam and Dean remained standing. They shared a look and then Dean walked up to the bed and locked eyes with Kyle.

"Kyle, there's something I want to tell you about Sam and I…"

Kyle sat up and ran his hand over his hair. "Okay?"

**TBC**

**Please Review!**


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Okay, so here's the new chapter for you guys! (Finally!) I also have the link for my Sunday account (with pictures, videos and transcripts) of the Asylum convention in May where I met the wonderful Jensen Ackles. My friend Tara has also made a beautiful video for this story that you should definitely check out! Here are the links:

Sunday account Asylum: **http://kelbub(dot)livejournal(dot)com/2007/07/01/**

To download Tara's "Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't" video: **http://www(dot)sendspace(dot)com/file/7c4m65**

To watch Tara's "Sometimes…" video on youtube: **http://www(dot)youtube(dot)com/user/LovinDean** (The vid is called 'Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't') Don't forget to leave a comment for Tara and let her know what you thought of the vid. Feedback is love!

Remember: The (dot)s in internet addresses are really .

PM me if you have any trouble with the links.

Also, make sure you check out Tara's stories here on ffdotnet. Her penname is LovinJackson!

PS. 'Gut' means 'Good' in German.

- Kel

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"Life consists not in holding good cards but in playing those you hold well." -- Josh Billings

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Look alive, dude. This is important." John's large hands wrapped around Dean's small shoulders and shook him impatiently. Dean's eyes fluttered open and he quickly straightened in his chair._

"_Sorry," he whispered and reached to pick up the card that had fallen out of his hand and onto his lap when he'd dozed off only seconds before. It was late at night and Dean had been up way past his usual bedtime to learn the basics of poker. John's friends, three guys that were also hunters, shared concerned looks._

"_Hey, John, we can do this another time," Caleb, the youngest of the hunters said, casting Dean a sympathetic look. "The kid looks like he's gonna fall off his chair any second."_

_Dean glared at him and shook his head. "Am not. I'm six and a half!" His last words were emphasized as if his age proved that he wasn't a baby and that he wasn't gonna fall asleep. The men around the table chuckled and shared knowing looks. Stubborn and refusing to admit defeat... Dean was John's son alright!_

_John sighed softly as his hand moved to rest on top of his son's head. "Go to bed, Dean," he said, disappointment evident in his voice._

_Dean turned to his father, lips parting to form an objection, but one look at his dad's stern face and his eyes dropped to the floor. "Yes, sir," he replied softly and slid off his chair. _

_The room Dean shared with Sam was dark and from the bed came the softest of all Sammy snores. Dean relaxed instantly and slipped under the covers beside his baby brother. He angled the bedside light away from Sam and flicked it on. In his hand were three Aces – cards he would never get to play. Yawning, Dean slipped the winning hand under his pillow and turned off the light._

Dean stared at the three Aces in his hand and swallowed thickly. The cards were worn around the edges and the colours had faded some. He stuffed them in his pocket and took a deep breath. Packing his stuff didn't take long. He didn't own much to begin with and half of his stuff he'd gladly go without. He stuffed some boxers, socks, t-shirts and a pair of jeans in his backpack and looked around the room. His eyes landed on his favourite sweatpants that had been neatly folded and put on his desk. 'Martha must have washed them,' Dean thought and studied the pants with raw fascination. It seemed like she had actually managed the get the bloodstains out. Not that it mattered, those pants were tainted. Had been tainted with more than his blood. Dean almost threw up just thinking about it and quickly averted his eyes. He tossed the packed bag into the closet and jumped when suddenly Reinhold's voice boomed from the hallway.

"Ulrich, get out here now!"

Dean gulped but obeyed, his heart hammering in his chest. Reinhold met him in the doorway, fat fingers closed around the cordless phone in a tight grip and eyes wide with worry.

"Have you heard from Marcus lately?" he asked urgently.

Dean shook his head slowly.

"He hasn't stopped by the house at all?!"

Dean shook his head again. "No, sir."

"Weren't you two fighting the last time he was here?" Reinhold demanded, taking a menacing step forward. Dean hurriedly took a step back to keep the distance between them.

"No, sir," Dean replied, blinking rapidly when his back connected with the wall behind him.

"Don't lie to me." Reinhold reached out and grabbed Dean by the arm. His grip was loose compared to other times and Dean found himself relaxing a little bit.

"I'm not," he told the man, "I swear."

Reinhold released him with a deep sigh. "Gut." He started towards the living room and turned when Dean still hadn't moved. "Come on!" He motioned for Dean to follow him.

Dean took a hesitant step forward. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to look for him."

They ran into Kyle outside the house and Dean groaned inwardly at his bad luck. Kyle was there to pick him up and give him a ride to Sam's house - a plan that was now ruined thanks to Marcus. Even when the man wasn't there he had a way of messing up Dean's life. Reinhold ignored Kyle and simply walked past him to get to his car. Dean though stopped and looked at Kyle with a weary expression.

"Where are you going, man?" Kyle asked, his voice lowering as Reinhold shifted his gaze to them.

Dean sighed softly. "Marcus is gone. I have to help look for him."

"But what about the plan?"

Reinhold, who had already gotten in the car, honked the horn impatiently and Dean started towards the car immediately. "You take my backpack to Sam's, okay? It's in the closet," he told Kyle hurriedly. "Come get me later."

"Ulrich!!"

Dean quickly spun around and hurried over to the car. Kyle looked on as the car backed out of the driveway and pulled out onto the road, then he turned and walked up to Dean's house.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Sam heard the rumble of an engine before his parents did and went to look out the window as the CPS official's car drove up to the house and parked behind his mother's red jaguar.

"Samuel, what are you doing?" his father's voice came from the dining room. "Come back here. They'll be here any minute." Sam shot a quick look at the CPS official as she got out of her car before turning and walking back to the dining room.

-----

Sam removed the tie with a grimace and threw it onto his bed. He'd played the perfect son to his perfect parents long enough and now all he wanted was to go over to Tina's and meet up with his brother. He grabbed the bags he'd packed only hours before and left the house as silently as he could manage.

Tina had parked her car behind the garage and was busy loading bags of groceries in the trunk when Sam walked up to her.

"Hey," he said softly, dropping his bags to the ground. Tina looked up at him and gave a small smile. "Hey, Slim. How'd it go?"

"Well, she seemed pleased when she left," Sam replied, referring to the CPS woman and the smile she'd sent his way before she left. "So I guess it went well."

Tina's smile broadened. "That's good." She closed the trunk and jutted her chin towards the spiral staircase leading up to her apartment. "Hey, your friend's here by the way."

"Who?" Sam turned just in time to see Kyle exit Tina's apartment and coming down the stairs carrying a load of blankets and pillows.

"Hey, Chewbacca!" Kyle called and smirked at Sam's puzzled look.

"Where's Dean?" Sam took one of the pillows from Kyle and threw it into the backseat of Tina's Mustang.

Kyle motioned for Tina to open the trunk and when she had he gratefully dropped the cumbersome load into it. "Couldn't make it."

Sam's brow furrowed in annoyance. "What do you mean he couldn't make it?"

Kyle sighed. "He couldn't make it. His dad…I mean Reinhold went to look for his brother and he took Dean with him."

"Why?"

Kyle shrugged. "He's gone apparently."

"What?!" Sam looked worried all of a sudden. "What do you mean he's gone?"

Kyle grabbed one of Sam's bags and tossed it into the trunk. "I don't know, man," he replied curtly. "Dean left pretty much when I got there so he didn't exactly have time to give me the lowdown on everything, you know?"

Sam paled and Kyle's heart dropped. He met Sam's gaze as a sudden feeling of dread clenched his gut.

"What are you thinking, man?" he asked fearfully, because he sure knew what he was thinking and it wasn't pleasant. Whip marks and an endless amount of bruises came to mind.

Then he relaxed. Dean hadn't seemed scared when he left, so it couldn't be too bad, could it? He grabbed Sam by the shoulder before Sam could answer him and tried to give a confident smile.

"Hey, it's cool. I'm sure he's fine." Sam didn't seem the least convinced and Kyle tried again. "You know, he didn't seem upset or anything so you shouldn't worry, okay?"

Sam nodded slowly, shoulders relaxing. "Okay."

Kyle smiled. "Okay. I'm going over there later to pick him up. We'll be at practice before you, alright?"

Sam nodded again and picked up his other bag from the ground, fiddling with the straps shortly before throwing it into the backseat with his pillow.

"If something happens you'll call me, right?"

Kyle nodded. "Of course."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

John stumbled into his motel room covered in blood and with his heart beating frantically in his chest. He slammed the door shut behind him with a soft curse and staggered across the floor to the small bathroom. Blood dripped from his hands and his arms onto the floor and he almost slipped in it as he made his way over to the basin and turned on the water. The cuts on his arms were long and jagged and were bleeding profusely. He winced as he held one arm under the water and scrubbed it with soap. He had to get the cuts cleaned and stitched. He had to mop his blood from the floors and pack his stuff and get out of there quickly.

He bit back a cry of pain as he removed a piece of glass from under his skin. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up bad. He cursed himself silently and wrapped a towel around his bleeding arms before reaching into the first aid kit for a thread and a needle. He couldn't waste anymore time. He needed to be out of the motel, packed and ready in time for Sam's soccer practice. That was when he had planned to get his sons, after practice, when none of their so called families were there to stop him. Or rather, that had been the plan before everything had gone sideways and time had become even more of an issue.

He removed the towel and stuffed it in his mouth instead. When he had thread and needle ready, he sat down on the toilet and stretched his arm over the edge of the water basin. This was gonna hurt. A lot. He thought he was prepared for the pain of the needle slipping through his skin and flesh but he was wrong. He grunted deeply into the towel as he fought against the pain. Little black dots danced before his eyes and the only thing he could do to keep from passing out was to think about his sons and that they needed him.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

Dean glanced over at Reinhold. The man hadn't said a word to him for almost an hour. Reinhold turned off the engine and shot Dean a steely look. Dean looked away quickly and got out of the car. They'd been searching for Marcus for hours. They'd been by his house and had even called his friends asking for him, but nothing. The last hour and a half Reinhold had insisted they'd spend driving around town as if he thought they'd run into Marcus wandering around aimlessly or something. As Dean had expected, they didn't find him in town either.

Reinhold closed the car door with a muttered curse and instinctively Dean hurried his steps a little as he walked up to the house. Martha greeted them in the doorway and helped Reinhold remove his coat as Dean slipped inside.

"Ulrich," Martha called after him, "Kyle called."

Dean didn't answer or slow down his steps until he was inside his bedroom. He grabbed the phone quickly and dialled Kyle's number with trembling fingers.

Kyle answered the phone after three rings.

"Ritter."

"Hey, it's Dean," Dean whispered into the phone.

"Why are you whispering?" Kyle asked, also whispering.

Dean ignored the question. They had more important things to discuss. "Did you get my stuff to Sam's house?" he asked.

Kyle's voice went back to normal as he answered. "Yeah. Helped Sam load his things into that Tina chick's car too." He whistled. "Sweet ride by the way."

Kyle's way of talking and his thing for calling people weird names had Dean wondering just what his friend was referring to exactly – the car or Tina.

"Uh…yeah…whatever," he replied absently. "So everything's ready?"

"Yup, ready as a two cent whore," Kyle quipped.

"What?" Dean hissed through the phone line, not sure if he'd heard his friend correctly.

Kyle sighed audibly. "Yeah, everything's ready."

"Good," Dean whispered. "When will you pick me up?"

"Whenever you want, man," Kyle replied.

"Great. In ten minutes?"

"Sure. Can I pick you up by the park though? I have to stop by my aunt's house to pick up something for my mom."

"Sure."

Dean hung up the phone quickly when Reinhold appeared at the door.

"Who you talking to?" Reinhold asked, sounding more annoyed than angry.

Dean fidgeted nervously. "Kyle. We have soccer practice in half an hour…remember?"

Reinhold turned his wedding band around his finger absently. "Right. But don't make any more phone calls. I want to keep the line open in case Marcus calls."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied automatically, studying Reinhold warily. He'd never seen Reinhold worried like that, or rather, he'd never seen the man show any emotions other than rage and anger before. He didn't quite know what to make of it.

"Gut." And with that one word Reinhold left the room.

Dean changed into the assistant coach team jacket and let the string with the whistle fall around his neck before letting his eyes wander over the interior of his room. This was the last time he'd lay eyes on this place. This place of pain and fear and hurt. He wouldn't miss it at all.

Slipping outside he felt as if a large chip fell off his shoulders, as if he could finally breathe again. It was a five minute walk to the park, Dean smiled and picked up pace. In a couple of hours he and Sam would be far away from this place, free to do whatever they liked. He crossed the street and stuffed his hand in his pocket, fingering the cards resting there. It seemed like he could finally play his winning hand.

He didn't hear the man sneaking up behind him until it was too late…

**TBC**

**Please review!**

A/N2:I celebrated my 25th birthday on July 6 and found out that my pal Nana56 had her birthday the same day. So this is me wishing her a happy (belated) birthday!! Hope you had a great day hun! I sure did. :)


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Hey! Finally an update, huh?! It's shorter than usual but, oh, so exciting (well, it was for me when I wrote it anyway). This is actually the next to last chapter of this story. Chapter 18, the last and final chapter of "Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't" will be posted soon.

Please review and let me know what you thought of this the latest instalment!

Oh, and please check out Tara's (LovinJackson) music video made for this story. It's called "Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't" and can be found here:

http://www(dot)youtube(dot)com/user/LovinDean

PS. (dot) is really a .

Enjoy your read:)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all." -- William Goldman_

The punch wasn't hard, but the gun swiped at his temple was and Dean cried out and staggered to the side. Hands grabbed him roughly by the collar and halted his crash to the ground only to shove him backwards. Dean fell hard, just barely catching himself before he hit his head in the asphalt. Dazed, he looked up to see a guy not much older than him staring down at him. The guy cocked his gun and aimed it at Dean's head.

"Give me your wallet." His voice was hoarse and curt and it froze Dean to the spot. He didn't doubt for a second this guy would shoot him dead if he didn't comply. Problem was he didn't have his wallet. It was in his backpack, in Tina's car. Groaning inwardly he slowly met his attacker's gaze.

"I don't have it on me," he said quietly, eyes dropping to the ground and the puddle of water at the thug's feet. It was amazing how at times like these his mind would take him elsewhere, to places that had absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand. Dean thought about the water and wondered why the other guy's clothes were completely soaked. 'It isn't raining,' Dean thought, 'so why is he wet?' It was a stupid question, especially since he was being held at gunpoint, but it was what garnered his attention at the moment and therefore a valid question to ask.

"Why are your clothes wet?" His words were delivered plainly, curiously, and could've killed him had his attacker been more vicious. Instead, he was smacked with the gun again and face planted with a soft grunt.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Dean lay still, breathing through the pain, while the other guy frisked him down. Rushed hands touched him in places they shouldn't and Dean closed his eyes and shuddered, waiting for the guy to take whatever he wanted from him. The guy grubbed around in his pockets and pulled out the three aces. He studied them for about a millisecond before throwing them to the ground with a cry of frustration. Dean reached out to take them but was immediately kicked in the side.

"Don't you fucking move!"

Dean felt cold metal push against his temple and closed his eyes. _This was it. This was fucking it._ Then the pressure on his temple disappeared and his attacker rolled him over, pushing a knee into his gut as he grabbed for his hands. Eyes locked on the gun and in a deadly fear of getting shot, Dean only fought back half heartedly as his assailant grabbed him by the elbow and wrapped cold fingers around his wrist. Dean was confused at first when the guy patted his wrist and sleeve but then he realized with huge relief that the guy was looking for jewellery. When his intentions were clear Dean calmed down a little and let the guy check him over, wrists, and neck, because really, what else could he do?

There was a tirade of muttered curses from the mugger when he realized his victim had nothing of value on him and he released Dean with a brusque shove. Dean was lying flat on his back and remained that way as the other guy got up, gun dangling from between his fingers.

"On your stomach!"

Dean blinked and gave him a fearful look. 'No!!' his mind screamed to him. 'Don't do it. He's going to shoot you! You can't let this happen now, not when you've found Sam and you're finally getting out of this place.'

"Please," he croaked, eyes desperate, not really sure himself what he was pleading for.

"On your stomach!!"

The gun was pointed at him again and Dean hesitantly obeyed, rolling onto his stomach slowly. He was certain he would die – that this thug would put a bullet in him, just end him with a shot to the back of the head like they did in gangster movies.

"Hands behind your back!"

Dean did as he was told, stretching his arms backwards slowly, all the while thinking how ironic it was that after years of lying and using the "I was mugged" story, he'd actually be taken out by a mugger. Strong hands grabbed at him brutally and he felt a pressure on his wrists and back. It was an all too familiar feeling these days and he sucked in a breath, fighting panic, and tried not to think about it.

"Damn it!" He heard his killer mutter, "I'm sorry." Then his world suddenly went black.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_Change has a considerable psychological impact on the human mind. To the fearful it is threatening because it means that things may get worse. To the hopeful it is encouraging because things may get better. To the confident it is inspiring because the challenge exists to make things better." -- King Whitney Junior_

They sat in silence, neither one of them knowing where to begin…how to say goodbye so abruptly. Tina brushed away a strand of hair from her face, her eyes, red from crying, were glued on the road in front of them. Sam stole uncertain glances her way every once in a while, not sure what to say to make it better.

A soft sniffle had him shifting his attention from the road and back to Tina. Tina was crying again, heavy teardrops falling in thick streaks down her cheeks. She wiped at them angrily.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "I can't stop." She gave a small, half choked laugh and looked at Sam. "I'm gonna miss you so much, you know?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Me too," he admitted gently, eyes meeting hers. "But you could come with us…." He already knew she wouldn't, but it felt good to offer. As expected, she shook her head with a sad smile. "I can't. I can't leave. I have to take care of mom."

"I know." And Sam did know. Tina had taken care of people pretty much all her life. Her mom had fallen ill when Tina was only twelve years old and she'd taken care of her mother ever since then. To help pay the rent, Tina had started working as soon as she was of legal working age and thus had become Sam's nanny and the family's maid at the young age of fourteen. Tina had moved where Sam's family moved and had been there all those times Sam had had to adjust to a new home or a new community. She'd taken care of him too.

When Sam's family moved, Tina followed, and where she went, she took her mother. But her mom grew more and more ill as the years went by. And when Tina was twenty-two years old her mom had become too sick to care for at home and had been moved to a home for terminally ill. Tina had then moved in with Sam's family and continued to work for them to pay for her mother's healthcare. So Sam knew Tina would never abandon her mother, no matter how much she loved him. She had two families and one needed her more than the other.

Sam loved Tina. More than he would ever admit. She'd been his mother, his friend, his confidant for as long as he could remember. It was hard to leave her behind, but Dean was his family and he needed him more.

Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his view like a veil before they fell through his long, dark eyelashes and down his cheeks. Tina noticed and reached to take his hand in hers.

"I'll always be here for you, Sam," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "If you need me, just call and I'll be there. You know where to find me."

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

_"...a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death." -- Pearl Buck_

John grimaced as he pulled the soaked t-shirt over his head and kicked off his water filled boots. The cuts on his arms were stitched up and bandaged but they hurt with every single move. He removed his belt and unzipped his jeans. Cursing when the wet material clung to his legs, John sank down on the bed and kicked furiously to get them off.

He didn't have time for this, especially not now. Sam's soccer practise was in five minutes and he would have to take off now if he wanted to be there before it ended. He'd had everything planned out, everything, but he wasn't sure just how he would convince his sons to come with him. They didn't know him, probably didn't even know what he looked like. Dean would probably want to come seeing how horrible his life with the Schmidts was. But Sam might not want to. He seemed to have a pretty good life here…two stable guardians…and a home. John could only hope his youngest son would choose his real, although less than perfect, family over the seemingly ideal family he had now.

Ten minutes later John fisted the keys to the Impala and picked up his duffel bag from the floor with a grunt. His arms hurt like crazy but he'd managed to stitch the wounds and change into dry clothes and he was finally on his way.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**KYLE**

Kyle glanced at his watch again, frowning. Dean was late. Later than usual. Twenty minutes was a long time when you had a plan to stick to and a time table to follow. He stepped out of the car and looked around the darkness of the evening.

"Damnit!" he cursed loudly. "Where the fuck are you?"

He'd gotten a bad feeling around the time his watch beeped 7 sharp - ten minutes after they were supposed to meet. Dean wouldn't be late for this. Not unless something had happened. He could see several different scenarios, none of them good, and a sudden dread rose in his body.

"Dean, I swear to God," he whispered, "when I find you, you better have a damn good explanation for this or I'm gonna kick your ass."

Knowing which way Dean would usually take through the park, Kyle started walking in the direction of his friend's house. As he walked he scanned the area around him carefully because getting jumped by someone right now just wouldn't be good.

Fists clenching in his pockets he continued on his way looking over his shoulder once in a while to make sure nobody was sneaking up on him.

"Dean," he hissed, peering over the hedge by the sidewalk to the lawn behind it. No Dean. Just darkness. "C'mon, man…"

He stepped through the opening in the hedge and onto the lawn, Dean's usual path through the park. Eyes darting back and forth he walked slowly through the dark, secluded area.

He sensed something was deeply wrong even before he noticed the pool of blood on the asphalt. "Dean?!" he yelled, eyes darting. Then he saw them…Dean's black sneakers, and gasped in shock. "Dean!!!"

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

Tina opened the trunk of the black Ford Mustang and waited as Sam climbed out of the car.

"I made chocolate chip cookies for you guys," she said, "You know, for the road…" She reached into the trunk, grabbed a blue plastic box and pulled it out to show Sam.

Sam nodded, his heart aching even more at having to leave her. "My favourite," he said softly, accepting the box of cookies with a sad smile.

"Yeah…and I wasn't sure what Dean liked so…"

"He'll love them," Sam assured her. Dean wasn't picky when it came to food, or anything else for that matter. Sam opened the door to the backseat and put down the blue box by the pillow already sitting there. Dean was going to drive and Sam was planning on riding in the backseat where he could sleep comfortably. He closed the car door with a content sigh.

"Let's go find him."

**A/N2**: A Happy (belated) Birthday to Jared Padalecki who turned 25 on July 19. Welcome to Club 25, Jared!

- The President of Club 25

**TBC**

**Please Review!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Okay, so here's finally the last chapter of my story. I'm sorry for the crazy long wait. You guys have been incredibly patient with me and I thank you for that. There will be a sequel to this story so that's why it ends a little abruptly.

Btw, I was in Vancouver with a couple of friends in August (to look for the set of Supernatural) and we shot a documentary about our trip. The documentary is called "When Mental Illness Turns into Mental Wellness" and is in three parts. All three parts can be found on YouTube: http://www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?vWRUGDymzF2A

And since this is the last chapter I just want to share the link (again! lol) to the music video that the lovely Tara made for this story. So for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of seeing the vid, here's the link: http://www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?vG-1jNshoHD4 Thank you again Tara!

And a big thank you to everyone for reading my story. It's been a long year and two months. lol Thank you also for all the great reviews and all your patience!

- Kel

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

"_Cry freedom  
With a quiet voice  
Cry freedom  
And rejoice._

Cry freedom  
See the purest light  
Cry freedom  
With fresh sight.

Cry freedom  
With a gentle will  
Cry freedom  
And be still.

Cry freedom  
Til your heart does ache  
Cry freedom  
And awake.

Cry freedom  
With a quiet voice  
Cry freedom  
And rejoice." 

_  
-- David Keig_

**KYLE**

He gathered his dead, or unconscious friend, he did not know which yet, in his arms and squeezed him hard.

"Dean! Wake up, dammit."

He tilted Dean's head to the side gently to get a better look at him. Dean's face was covered in blood, but thankfully all of it seemed to be coming from a nosebleed. Kyle felt his neck for a pulse and was relieved when he felt a faint rhythm against his fingertips.

"You gotta stop doing this to me, man," he breathed. "Or I swear to God you're gonna give me a fucking heart attack."

He slapped Dean lightly on the cheek trying to wake him up. Dean moaned softly and despite the dire situation Kyle felt himself smirking. "Yeah, that's right," he coaxed. "You gotta wake up so you can get out of here."

He shook his friend impatiently and Dean stirred slightly.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**DEAN**

"_Beyond this place of wrath and tears_

_Looms but the horror of the shade,_

_And yet the menace of the years_

_Finds, and shall find, me unafraid._

_It matters not how straight the gate,_

_How charged with punishments the scroll,_

_I am the master of my fate._

_I am the captain of my soul." – W.E. Henley, 'Echoes'_

Dean opened his eyes as another shake, harder this time, yanked him out of unconsciousness. A pair of blue eyes peered down at him and he jerked away with a gasp.

"Easy. It's just me."

He recognized Kyle's voice immediately and slumped back with a painful groan.

"Jesus, Dean. What happened?"

Kyle sounded like a worried parent and it kinda annoyed Dean. Only a little though. He frowned, coughed and wiped a hand over his face slowly. His palm came back stained with blood and he stared at it, eyes widening.

"Dean!" Kyle grabbed his wrist and leaned in closer to get his attention. "What happened? Are you badly hurt?"

Dean shook his head slowly and from his perspective it was the honest truth, although for anyone else it would've been a lie. Dean had been beaten so much in his life that he perceived pain differently than most people. To him pain was a constant. Unbearable pain was only when physical pain was accompanied by emotional pain. It sounded corny even to him, but a broken heart and a torn soul hurt much worse than any random beating ever could. So this wasn't so bad. At least not compared to other things he'd experienced in his life.

"I'm fine," he said in a raspy voice and struggled to sit up. Kyle rolled his eyes and gave him a small push to help him.

"So what happened?"

That was the third time Kyle asked him that. Dean thought about his answer for a second before breaking into a crazy, on the verge of hysteric, laugh.

"I was mugged." He laughed again, tasting the words and closing his eyes as he tried to wrap his head around the fact. "I was mugged..."

Kyle stared at him, eyes widening, with an unreadable expression on his face. Then his eyes narrowed and he poked Dean hard in the chest with his index finger. "Don't lie to me. You've lied to me for years. I'm your best friend…" He grabbed Dean by the shoulders. "…and I think I fucking deserve the truth, don't you?" His voice was rough with emotion and Dean's laughter died on his lips immediately.

They sat in silence for a while then Dean turned away, too ashamed to look at his friend. "I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching to wipe some blood off his face with his sleeve. "I didn't want to lie to you."

"Then why the hell did you?"

Dean laughed again but this time softly, bitterly, sadly. "Because I'm pathetic." _And ashamed._ He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and risked a look in Kyle's direction then exhaled slowly as if giving up, giving in.

"Okay..." His voice was low, the tone resigned, the words ominous - and all of a sudden Kyle wasn't so sure he wanted to hear it.

_The twelfth didn't hurt nearly as much as the first. His back had become a throbbing, aching mess long before the tenth - and yeah, he'd kept track. Even though the belt was probably slick with blood by now, his back was too numb and he too out of it to fully register the pain. 'Thirteen,' he counted silently, and winced as the belt tore away more skin from his back and another piece of his soul._

'_I'll be okay. I'll be okay. He won't kill me,' he told himself. But as the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth strikes bore down on him in a quick succession he wasn't so sure anymore. Reinhold wasn't slowing down, he was speeding up. 'Oh,God. Please.' Another sound of something wet slapping skin and he moaned softly. "Please…" He did a double take. Was that his voice just now? It was, and he was surprised that his plea had actually made it to his lips and managed to slip out. But before he could recover from the hit or his own expressed defeat, another strike whistled in the air and this time it ripped a cry from his throat. It'd hit much lower this time, marking previously unscathed skin, and it hurt even worse than the first. He gasped a sob, his defences finally breaking._

"_I'm sorry." His voice was twisted in a painful gasp that sounded more like a cough as he tried desperately to conceal the sobs he could no longer hold back._

"_Crying are you, you little shit?" Marcus face came into view, sneering at him. _

_Dean shuddered in shame, eyes dropping._

"_Marcus. Leave him be." Reinhold sounded annoyed. It was one thing to discipline the boy, another to taunt him. _

"That time when you saw…you know, in the locker room…" Dean paused, hesitating. "They were… Reinhold, he…"

"Whipped you?" Kyle filled in slowly. He would never forget those lacerations on Dean's back.

Dean's face flushed and Kyle wondered why he was ashamed of it. It wasn't Dean's fault Reinhold was a sadistic bastard.

"…yeah." Dean's voice wasn't more than a whisper. Then he gave a small sigh – one that sounded like relief – like a burden lifting from his shoulders. "And the times I missed practise or stayed home from school… It wasn't because I didn't want to go…" His eyes moved upwards to meet Kyle's gaze for the first time since he'd started talking. "I never got mugged… Well, not until now at least." He stopped and bit his lip, ending it now before he'd break down. He didn't want to talk about it. Not with anyone.

"Okay," Kyle murmured, and the one word held a lot more meaning than it usually did. He got up and reached for Dean's hand. "Let's get you outta here. Sam's waiting."

Dean accepted the outstretched hand and let himself be hoisted to his feet.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**SAM**

"_There is only one success - to be able to spend your life in your own way." -- Christopher Morley_

Sam scanned the parking lot and surrounding area one more time before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath. Dean wasn't there, and Sam was sure of it now - he wasn't gonna show. Tina squeezed his hand and Sam opened his eyes again to look at her.

"Maybe we should go look for him?"

He nodded slowly.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**JOHN**

"_There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." -- Nelson Mandela, 'A Long Walk to Freedom' _

To say that he was fine would've been the understatement of a century. He wasn't fine he was great, felt more alive than he had for a long time. Not even the fact that his arms were covered in blood could take away that feeling. Maybe it was the waning rush of adrenaline or maybe it was the blood loss, but John felt calmer than he had in a long time. It was now or never and he had planned for this moment for ten years. He was ready for this. Ready to finally meet his sons.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Sam and Tina didn't have to walk far in their search for Dean. It only took them about five minutes before they ran into Dean and Kyle. Dean was leaning on his friend, his face a mess of dirt and blood. He looked like shit.

"Dean!"

Dean offered Sam a weak smile. "I'm fine, Sam. You know me - just couldn't leave here without a little bloodshed.

"What happened? The worried look on Tina's face shocked Dean, stumping him into silence.

"He was mugged." Kyle spoke for him, sending his friend a knowing look.

"Mugged!" Sam and Tina exclaimed in unison.

Dean waved at them dismissively. "I'm fine. Really. I promise." He pushed away from Kyle and started towards Sam. "I just wanna get out of here if that's okay."

-----

There were no goodbyes. Not really. Kyle and Dean didn't say a word to each other. Not because they didn't want to, but because they didn't have to. Dean offered his friend a slight nod which was returned with a friendly clap in the shoulder.

Kyle smiled; happy that his friend was finally getting away from what he guessed had been a pretty miserable life. Dean returned the smile. He felt free. The burden of having kept the truth from his friend for so long was finally gone after years of silent suffering. More importantly, he was forgiven. He got in the car and glanced over at Sam and Tina whose bodies were locked in a tight embrace a few yards away. His brother was crying but was trying to hide it by burying his face in Tina's hair. Like for Dean and Kyle, few, if any, words were passed between them. They had already said their goodbyes and what was left now was nothing but their feelings for each other.

"Here."

Kyle tossed something to him and it landed on Dean's lap. He picked it up and stared at it. It was one of Kyle's elephant hair wrist bands, he had two and he never took them off.

"Kyle…" he began, not quite sure what to say. "I…"

"No chick flick moments, okay?" Kyle said, cutting him off. "Just take it."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay." He slipped it over his right hand and watched the curve of black around his wrist. But when he looked up to thank his friend, Kyle was gone.

-----

They had been on the road for more than twenty minutes before any of them spoke.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Sam scratched himself and looked at his brother with a sad expression on his face.

"They'll be fine, Sammy," Dean replied, throwing a quick look in the rear-view mirror at a car that was following them, "and so will we. I promise." He stepped on the gas and pulled out onto the highway. The other car, a black Impala, sped up and followed suit.

After what felt like an eternity of the other car trailing them Dean was starting to get a little worried. He didn't recognize the car. None of Reinhold's or Marcus' friends had a car like that. Still, who would be following them if not Reinhold or Marcus? No one else would have a reason to. He made a quick decision and turned the wheel sharply, the car swerved and they skidded over two lanes towards the closest exit on the highway. Dean's breath caught in his throat when he watched the other car doing the exact same thing, taking the turn just as determinedly and in a way that was very unsettling. Sam who'd been dozing off in the backseat woke at the sharp turn of the Mustang.

"Wha... What's going on?" He asked drowsily.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror at the other car before answering his brother. "Someone is following us."

"What?!"

Sam quickly spotted the other car as it came up behind them, following them, but keeping a safe distance. The other driver honked the horn and both brothers jumped at the sudden sound. Dean stepped on the gas. And of course, the Impala followed.

It continued like that for a while. Whenever Dean tried to break away, the other car would speed up. And whenever they made a turn the Impala would follow. The other car honked again and Dean frowned.

"Can you see the driver?" he asked Sam as he made a left turn onto a dirtroad. He'd completely run out of options.

Sam peered through the backwindow, squinting slightly. It was too dark to see anything. "No."

Dean ran a hand over his short hair, cursing under his breath. Sam winced.

"What are we gonna do, Dean?"

"Just give me some time to think, okay?"

Sam turned to look at the other car again. "He's speeding up," he said, watching as the other car accelerated. The headlights of the black car were soon illuminating the interior of the Mustang and Sam crouched down in the backseat. "Dean!"

Dean stepped on the gas and grimaced when he realized he'd already pushed the car to its limit. They couldn't go any faster than this that was for certain. The other car honked again and Sam yelped. The other car drove up next to them, swerving slightly in the gravel.

"He's gonna force us off the road!" Sam gasped, his eyes wide with fear.

"Sam put on your seatbelt," Dean ordered, a determined look crossing his features suddenly. Sam quickly obeyed.

"What are you gonna… DO." The last word came out in a short gust of air when Dean suddenly stepped on the brakes and the car stopped with a screech in a cloud of dust. They groaned in unison as they tried to loosen their seatbelts that had locked after their sudden, and jerky, forward motion.

Their pursuer stopped his car with a similar screech a couple of yards ahead and killed the engine. Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam.

"You okay?"

Sam's eyes found his brother's and he nodded wordlessly.

"Stay here." Dean unfastened his seatbelt and opened the door slowly. He was sick and tired of running and he just wasn't gonna do it anymore.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked urgently and glanced over at the other car. He saw the other driver getting out of his car and quickly moved to unfasten his own seatbelt. No way in hell was he gonna let Dean fight the other man by himself.

"I said stay!" Dean ordered with a finality that surprised even him. He slammed the door and turned towards the stranger standing by the other car. "Who the hell are you and why are you following us?!" he called. He sounded calmer than he felt.

"Dean." The other man's voice was low and throaty, rough with emotion, but there was no doubt who it belonged to.

"Dad?" Dean's body trembled and his arms fell limply to his sides. He took a step back and sent an uncertain look to Sam who was staring at his brother through the rolled up window.

"Yeah, it's me." The other man stepped into the beams of light from the Mustangs headlights and stopped. Though he seemed a bit uncomfortable at first, his lips curved into a faint smile when he laid eyes on Dean. But the smile faded as soon as he saw the stains of blood on his son's face and shirt.

John took a quick step forward but stopped when Dean backed into the side of the Mustang. "What happened, Dean? Who hurt you?"

Dean didn't answer him, instead his arm travelled up to curl protectively around his midsection as he stared at John in disbelief.

"Dad?"

John turned to look at his youngest who had just stepped out on the other side of the car. Sam was tall and gangly and his dark, unruly hair was so long it covered half of his face. And although he looked awkward in that way every 13-year old did, his gaze was steadfast and unyielding when he locked eyes with his father. John was glad that at least one of his sons seemed to be okay. Dean, still staring at his father with a look of a deer caught in headlights, was broken. Maybe broken beyond repair, John just didn't know. His 17-year old son had been through so much. Too much if you asked John. But there was evidently a part of Dean that was still the son he had raised so many years ago. John had noted with pride that his son, despite his own fears, had positioned himself between his younger brother and the potential danger. Apparently there were some things that time and certain people couldn't change.

Sam rounded the car and walked up to his brother, eyes still locked on John.

"Sam… Dean…" John spoke, his voice trembling a little. "I'm…" He paused. To tell his sons that he was happy to see them would be a huge understatement. He wasn't just happy. He was happier than he'd ever been in his life. The immense pain of having lost his sons - a pain he had carried with him for ten years was slowly fading and it felt like he could finally breathe again.

"Why did you do that?" Sam's voice sounded calm but his dark eyes were flashing.

John's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Do what?"

"Why did you chase our car like that?" Sam demanded. _'You scared us.'_ "You almost ran us off the road!"

John shifted his gaze to Dean who quickly looked away, hands fisting in his pockets.

"I tried to get your attention," John heard himself explain. "I honked… I tried to drive up alongside your car but whenever I got too close you would speed up." _'I didn't know what to do.'_

"Of course we did," Sam said angrily, "We thought you were--"

"It's okay, Sam," Dean interrupted before his brother could get into too much detail. "Nothing happened. Right?"

"But--" Sam protested. He didn't understand how Dean could just wave something off like that. He knew their dad had scared him too.

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist. _'Sam…It's dad.'_ He didn't have to say it, his eyes expressed his silent request and Sam knew to let it go.

John smiled. The bond his sons shared seemed to be just as strong now as it had been when they were young. He reached out tentatively and planted a huge hand on each of his sons' shoulders.

"Boys, I'm so happy I found you…" He didn't care if it sounded stupid.

Sam glanced at Dean before offering John a hesitant smile. He felt weird because even if he'd wished for this moment their father was still a stranger to them. But Dean had been right… It was okay. They would be okay. From here on things could only get better, right?

The heat of John's hand on his shoulder spread to Dean's chest and then his back and from there to the rest of his body. He was safe now, finally able to slump back and pass the reins to someone else. Someone he could trust. He was tired all of a sudden. Tired in a way he'd never been before. It was a bone-deep fatigue and it completely overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes, welcoming the reprieve his father's presence offered. Sure, in the ten years that had passed, some days had been hard while others had been even harder. Some days he'd wished for death, wished for the peace it would bring. Shit had happened. Things he didn't even want to think about. He'd come to know the definition of the word 'pain'. And pain – it hurt. Sometimes it had hurt so bad he couldn't even register the pain.

But standing between his brother and his father just then, hearing them breathing and feeling the warmth of their bodies, Dean realized something. Sometimes it didn't hurt at all.

**THE END**

**Please review!**

**A/N2:** The great comedian Eddie Izzard once said that car chases are a lot cooler on television than in novels. He was probably right, but it didn't stop me from writing one anyway. ;) I hope it didn't suck too much. Take care everyone!


End file.
